I Will Come Back Here For You
by ForeverErica
Summary: Post-TMFT. 3x13. Semi-AU. What is in store for Jack and Kate after he leaves the Island in hopes of bringing back rescue? What repercussions will the Island and the Oceanic survivors face once an evil foe begins to show his true intent?
1. The Final List

**_This is the start of an idea that is completely different from anything I've ever attempted to write before, a different take on one of my favorite seasons, Season Three. This is an Island Jate fiction (slightly, if not completely AU) through and through, that inculcates a lot about what I love so much about the show. I hope I do this idea justice. _**

**_A very, very special thanks to stef23.51 for his ideas and continued encouragement. You are absolutely amazing, sir. _**

* * *

><p>Benjamin Linus wheeled himself down the fluorescently-lit hallways of the office cabin of the Others compound, with Tom hot on his trail. The breeze of the cool night bit through his flannel pajamas, and he had been strongly advised to stay in bed, that the situation was being handled, but he demanded to be in the thick of it, and no one dared to cross him or disagree. He opened the door to his office, and met the three security detail officers before wheeling himself behind his desk. He listened closely to Pryce, the head of security, for every detail of the invasion.<p>

"We saw her creeping into the Doctor's quarters on the monitors. It appears she had no idea he was being watched. They argued for a second before I sent the team in to extract her. I kept my gun on the Doctor until they had her down on the ground. She's cuffed and being detained on-site. The Arab has also been cuffed and detained."

Ben took in the news, and sighed. "Was there anyone else out there besides Austen and Jarrah?"

"No sir, just the fugitive and the Arab. It appears that they're alone. Plus, the fugitive said there was no one else."

"Well, appearances don't always tell the entire story and Austen is a career fugitive, she lies, often, and she could be lying about this," Ben lectured. "I want you to scour the perimeter. They didn't find us by themselves. Austen is too impulsive and Jarrah wouldn't have a clue we were even here." He tipped his glasses further down the bridge of his nose, suspicious. "They had help. Someone patient enough to wait and someone smart enough to not get caught." Someone else was here. He knew it, felt it.

Before Ben could give his next order, Richard came through the closed door of his office, a worn, folded sheet of paper sat in his hand and it could have only come from one person. There was only one person that was more important than the security breach, only one person that was more important than anything, to the Island, and to Ben.

"Gentlemen, will you excuse us?" Ben asked politely. A thought dawned on him before the security team left. "Oh yes, bring Jack in here please, I want to have a word with him." The room emptied quickly, leaving Ben and Richard alone.

"You couldn't have picked a worse time, Richard." Ben massaged his temples.

"Don't shoot the messenger, Ben. You know how erratic his timing can be. He waits for no one. It arrived just now, and I brought it straight away." Richard said, passing the folded sheet of paper to Ben. "Shouldn't you be in bed? After such a complicated surgery, you—"

"Two very dangerous and very determined outsiders who weren't even supposed to make it past the sonar pylons that are supposed to protect us invaded the compound tonight, Richard. The very last place I should be is in bed." Ben argued, reminding himself to send a maintenance crew to the sonar fence. It was due for a check-up.

Ben took the piece of paper and opened it, reading its contents under his desk lamp. It was another one of his lists, and instead of numerous names, there was only one, with a list of explicit directions to follow. He smirked surreptitiously, a slight grin peeked through. Richard stood, curious about what the note said. He was always so curious, but he knew his place, never dared to step out of line and he also knew that whatever the note instructed, Ben was trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt to perform. He always did and he always would.

Pryce brought Jack into Ben's office by his arm. Jack jerked his arm away, staring at Pryce with an annoyed scowl, not in the least bit intimidated and obviously pissed off and prepared to punch something, the guard being at the top of his list for the moment. He turned to Benjamin and Richard, who were staring holes into him. He didn't have time for this, he needed to see Kate. They'd taken her away so quickly, he didn't have a chance to see if they'd hurt her when they pushed her to the ground and literally pulled her out of his sight.

"Where's Kate?" Jack asked, wasting no time with pleasantries, although he didn't approve of Ben being out of bed, but he did his part, the rest was up to him.

Ben decided to ignore his question, because he felt like Jack wasn't in the position to ask or demand answers about anything. "Did you know about this?"

Jack caught the suspicious verve of Ben's tone and didn't like it one bit. "What?" He was fuming at this point. Seeing Kate being so roughly man-handled and treated like a sack of garbage was enough to make him lose his grip on reality, but this, this was insane. He told her not to come back here, and her inability to listen to him has caused everything to blow up in his face. He was so angry with her and yet so worried about her, he couldn't see straight, but he willed himself to listen intently to Ben, who was obviously displeased. He blew out a quick breath before responding, "Did I know about what?"

Ben continued to accuse. "Kate. Sayid. They're obviously here to rescue you Jack, now who would have given them the idea that you needed to be saved?"

"Wait a minute. You think that I—" He couldn't even bring himself to voice the question, because it was too ridiculous to put into words. The muscles in Jack's shoulders bunched until they almost snapped. He could literally feel his biceps burning, the need to throttle someone was bursting. He moved passed Richard, standing firm, his eyes baring shards of madness, frustration, and his voice low, insulted. "I would rather see you dead on the ground than to want or even ask Kate or Sayid to risk their lives to come back here. I have no idea how they even found us, and I didn't encourage anyone to do anything. I told Kate to never come back here for me."

"It's nice to know that my well-being still means so much to you, Jack," Ben's sarcasm was dripping in pools, "but, obviously she didn't care what you told her, or maybe you just want me to believe that you told her any such thing."

"He did, Ben," Tom announced from the door, which was now wide open, "I was there when the Doc told her to never come lookin' for him. This was all her doing. Jack wants off this Island and he did everything you asked."

"Well, Tom, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a soft spot for our temporary visitor," Ben taunted, staring over the rim of his reading glasses at his large friend, who took kindly to guests way too easily. "You might want to get over that, because he's leaving. Very soon. Tonight to be exact."

Jack placed his hands flat on the desk, peering down at Ben, his bugged-eyes moved to meet his. "Before I get on that sub, I want to see her, and after I'm gone, I want you to let them go, both of them."

Ben whistled, uncompromisingly. "You're biting the hand that feeds you, Jack. Letting them go was not a part of the deal."

"Well, Ben, the circumstances of the deal have obviously changed," Jack argued his point valiantly, "Kate and Sayid aren't even supposed to be here. Promise me that you'll let them go, and only then will I leave."

What was it about him and these people? Ben thought. Kate had betrayed him, broke his heart, and yet he would risk freedom, again, to protect her. This has to be real love at its finest, it's just too bad Jack was leaving and would never really know if his feelings were returned, they obviously were or Kate wouldn't be here, but Jack failed to see that, but he did, and it delighted him more than he thought it would. "I'll let them go, once I get the answers I require."

Jack continued to look Ben straight-on, worried now more than anything that Ben had Kate strapped down to some torturing contraption, pressuring her with pain to talk. He wouldn't put it past him. "Where is she?"

The alarmed tone in Jack's voice meant that he wanted to see her, not now, but right now. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Jack. You can make a clean break for it. Get on that sub without any interaction with Miss Austen whatsoever. She'll be nothing but a distant memory." Ben knew that to Jack, she would never be so easily forgotten and abandoned, but that was why they were standing there having this conversation, wasn't it?

"Where is she?" The words were more pronounced, angrier, louder. Ben looked over to Tom, who had detained Kate himself.

"She's in one of the game rooms, Doc. I can take you to her." Jack eagerly followed Tom into the hallway.

"Jack?" Ben called, watching as Jack turned to him, red anger still present in his eyes. "Make it quick. The sub will be leaving sooner than you think, and as a man of my word, it won't move an inch without you."

Jack and Tom walked quickly through the courtyard towards the east quadrant of the expansive compound. Juliet appeared on the porch of her barrack, and watched as the two men moved through the dark space, which was lit by the light posts at each corner. Something was going on and she had the feeling that Jack was right in the middle of it.

"Jack!" She called. He and Tom stopped in their tracks and turned. She was already walking towards them. "What the hell is goin' on?"

"Kate came back." Jack said, staring at her regretfully. He finally reached her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, gripping it lovingly. "I need to talk to her."

That didn't make any sense; Jack had told her to never come looking for him, but the fugitive always had her own plans, Juliet remembered. "She came by herself?"

"My friend Sayid is here too. I'm not sure where they're holding him, but I gotta make sure that Ben lets them go. I won't leave until that happens."

"Well, I'm packed and ready to go." She smiled meekly at him, and he half-returned it.

"I'm right behind you, I just have to say goodbye." He took her hand, held it firmly. He smiled coyly at her. "I have to." There were a lot of things he had to do for Kate, even though his heart was barely back in good form from what she'd done, but he couldn't bare the thought of leaving the Island without making sure she was okay, which he doubted she would be, not after what he had to tell her.

"Then go. I'll be waiting for you when it's time." Jack smiled at her before he walked back over to Tom, who led him up a small staircase to the game room. Juliet hoped that Kate wouldn't get her hooks into Jack this time, because she was more than looking forward to leaving the Island knowing that Jack would be coming with her. Her crush on him has turned into something that she wasn't able to control any longer, and with Kate back in the picture, she wasn't sure what Jack would decide.

Tom opened the door to the game room, and watched as Kate wiggled around on the edge of the pool table. She was a slippery one, he thought, a real piece of work. He remembered what he saw of the clear connection she shared with Jack, when he and a few of the Others captured her and presented her to the Doctor as a tactic to get him to stop trying to find Michael. He was dead-bolted to the ground the moment they revealed her as their prisoner, sweaty, completely rocked to the core. That was how Ben knew who Jack was emotionally-invested in, who he had given his heart to without fail. They were always sure that it was Kate, and now more than ever, they were sure that Jack was that person for her.

She was frozen, somewhat paralyzed with fear when she saw Tom at the door, watching him with those doe-green eyes of hers. He spoke to someone at his side, someone she couldn't see. He pointed at his ear, and Kate couldn't make out what that was supposed to mean. "Be careful in here." He whispered, indicating that even though they were alone, people were listening.

Jack patted his friend on the shoulder, offering his thanks. He walked into the room and drunk in Kate's rumpled, but fine appearance. She was okay. Inside, he was breathing sighs of relief, but on the outside, he was as stoic as a brick wall, as if her presence was nothing more than a mere inconvenience, and honestly, even though he knew she was trying to help him in her own special way that usually ended with the tip of a gun pointed towards her, that's exactly what her being here was, a ticking time-bomb of inconvenience, because now he had to worry about her, and worst of all, see her, before he left. Why wasn't she with Sawyer, safe? Why couldn't she have just sat still for once? Damn her for this.

Kate took in Jack's appearance. He looked just as she remembered. Tall, handsome, stubble at his cheeks, the passionate russet brown of his eyes hadn't dimmed a day, but there was obvious anger in them, and disappointment, but for most of her study, there was nothing at all. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but the cuffs really didn't offer her much freedom with her hands, which was the obvious point. She just decided that staring at him would have to do, and he was a welcomed sight to her well-being and sense of calm. She thought that he'd been a prisoner here, that he wasn't able to live out his own will, and he wasn't entirely free to his own devices, he was being watched and he tried to warn her against coming any closer, but she wasn't there to play things safe and still. Other than that, he seemed happy, almost content here with the people who threw him into a glass tank and tortured his friends for days on end. She wanted to ask, 'What the hell was that in the courtyard?', but she had to start off light. She wasn't even supposed to be here, but how dare he ask her to stay away, after all they'd been through together?

Tom closed the door, allowing Jack and Kate some semblance of privacy. Instead of moving to her and dragging her into his chest for a bear hug like she so desperately wanted him to do, he stepped over, grabbed the top of a folding chair, and brought it backwardly in between his legs, sitting on it casually, and stared at her as if studying a bug under a microscope. 'What was that?' Kate thought. It was like coming near her was strictly forbidden. Something was very wrong, she decided. He walked like Jack, looked like Jack, even had the same mysterious paint down his arm like Jack, but this Jack lacked something so unrelentingly valuable to her, he lacked the compassion that _her_ Jack always showed.

Jack continued to study her, from the tip of her head to the soles of her hiking boots. She seemed okay, but he still had to ask, "They hurt you?"

The shrill coldness of his voice made her spine stiffen, but the question reminded her of the Jack that she longed for. Tears stung her eyes, and her voice was shaky, broken, "No. They hurt you?"

As if his safety were a joke to him, he laughed. The irony of that question, coming from the person who actually had hurt him, wasn't ignored on his part. He shook his head, "No."

She looked around from the time since they'd thrown her in here, taking in the shed full of toys and board games, the posters of cartoon characters on the way, and the pool table she sat on. It was obviously a play room of some sort, but she had to get him to talk to her, so she asked, "What is all this?"

He followed her eyes across the walls, nodding. "This is where they live."

One-sentence answers, she thought. This was the Jack who was hiding something, who was stepping away from her, shielding the truth from her prying eyes, and even worse, shielding his emotions. She accepted that answer, but she wanted more. "And the people they took?" She looked down at her sore, cuffed wrists, sad, but still probing, "The kids?"

He looked down to the floor, his head shook in the affirmative. "They're all safe." His tone was so calm, and so unfeeling, but smooth all the same, not a shred of temper, and it unnerved her. He finally looked up at her with those vacant, void eyes again, meeting her dead-on. Now she knew he was lying, and she couldn't stand it any longer.

She met his eyes, her face contorted from confusion and outrage. "Safe?" She asked pointedly, disbelievingly. He nodded coolly; everything about him was so cool, in a place full of people that were ten-inches shy of killing a man right in front of her. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say, but he was positive that wasn't what she was expecting, he read it in her disturbed disposition.

She smirked callously, twitching her shoulder as if to play off of his carefree temperament, because she had none of her own. "So you're with them now?"

He stared off for a second, trying his best to deliberate her question, but deliberation wasn't necessary from his end, he knew exactly where he stood and who he stood with. He was alone, and he was fine with that. Alone suited him just fine, because anything else led down a road he wasn't willing to take. He finally shook his head, his voice so base, deep, and grainy.

"I'm not _'with'_ anyone, Kate."

Now she had her answer. This isn't Jack. This is not his attitude, his point of view. This was someone else, someone who had become hardened and cold since the last time she saw him. This was outrageous, uproarious; this wasn't how it was supposed to be. The man who brought a group of hungry, thirsty panicked survivors together to coexist, who begrudgingly picked up the torch of leadership and ran with it, he would never say this. He would never do this to the people who were sitting on a beach, worried about him, and frankly, he would never do this to her. She had come back for him and there was no 'Thank you, Kate', there was no assurance that he was even happy to see her at all, and now she was there alone, among an army of murderers, with no advocate. This was insane, pure insanity. She was at her wits end. Now was the time to dig deep.

Kate hopped off the pool table and started towards him, her voice sparking with impatience and betrayal, "What did they do to you?"

He bowed, shook his head then, a sign for her not to come any further, because if she did, he knew that he would break, he would tell, he would sing. He could barely stand the faint fragrance of her skin at this proximity, but if she came any closer, if she asked any more questions, he would snap. So he had to say something.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you acting like this?" Her voice was louder, prouder, angrier. The more betrayed she felt, the harder it would be for him to leave this room, which was growing smaller and smaller with each step she made in his direction. He couldn't think straight now, he couldn't form his sentences, and things were too muddled to communicate at this point.

He tried to talk anyways, his eyes still cast towards the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. "There's no w—you—There's no way that I could—"

Now she was shouting, hurt, drained, disappointed. "I came here to help you! So why don't you just tell me why you're—"

His temper flared like a sparking firecracker, every one of her triggers caught him up, and he'd been had. He shouted over her, just as loudly, just as disappointed, his eyes finally picking themselves up from the ground to meet the shocked glare of hers.

"I told you not to come back here for me!"

Teeth gnashing, she spoke through them. "I didn't think you meant it."

A sheen of tears made his eyes shine in the dimly-lit game room. There it was, the emotion that she'd been searching for, praying for, the temper that he knew would explode if he let her anywhere near it. He kept his eyes locked on her, and then they fell to the ground, his brow knitted in painful observation. He looked back up at her, intent to say something, but the words sunk back, and he was left without steely defense, she knew it, and she softened at the sight of it. He suddenly couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in and he had to get out of there. What had possessed him into thinking that this was a good idea? That any of this, that seeing her, that trying to talk calmly to her, would bring the smooth result that he sought? She saw the struggle in his face. He wasn't in control of anything anymore, at the very least, his emotions, which he cast to the side the moment he saw her in his barrack.

Everything right and all things real propelled her feet towards him now, and she reached for him, grateful that he didn't balk at her attempt to touch. Then her palm landed over his hand, and her anger washed away, all that remained was a love that one single touch couldn't have possibly been responsible for. This was always there, and she'd missed it so much, she now felt the heavy sag of her lungs brighten with life again. She felt him flinch beneath her, a tiny speck of acknowledgment, that he felt it too, the heavy stream of sparks that rained down on her, rained on him too. He finally opened his eyes, straining against the urge to weep, to sigh, because it was still there, she still had the power to sweep him over and under. He melted at her advance, melted away and evaporated at her nearness. He tried to avoid this, sitting a full foot away from her, but she always came back to him. Why did she always have to come back for him?

She kneeled to his level, and wrapped her hands into his, and felt him immediately react, his fingers curling over her palms. God, how long had it been since she touched him, been this close to him? It felt like just yesterday, every cell in her body had been branded with his imprint, completely memorized, but still in desperate need of the livewire that always ran between them, in order to survive. She'd been touched all over by a man, kissed, made love to, but the gamut of tingles down her spine hadn't run as far then as they were sprinting now. She knew that her feelings for Jack, if she allowed them to run free, would be her undoing. She was too open, left to her vulnerabilities for too long to hide herself now. If he asked her right this second if she loved him, she wouldn't have the strength to deny that she did, more than she ever thought possible, more than the love for any other she declared it to combined, and she always would.

She gave herself a moment to breathe him in, his natural, manly scent intoxicating. His face was pained, because she just ripped the scab from the wound that he worked too damn hard to repair. It was seeping now, bleeding love, all for her. Why didn't he run for the submarine with no regret, no remorse, no looking back? Because he missed this just as much as she obviously had, and he already felt the growling press for more.

She was so soft now, pliable, one big, pulsating hurt that stared him square in the eyes, pleading, "What did they do to you, Jack?"

He was stone-cold busted, the puppy-dog bend of her brows made him want to be eaten up by the floor underneath them. He had to let it all go. "I made a deal with them," he nodded to punctuate the bombshell that came next, "They're gonna let me go."

She shook her head, completely confused and distraught, but she had to know more. "Where?"

"Home." His lips tickled with a smile, but the sadness still mounted over it, preventing it from fully blooming. He thought he was staring home straight in the face, but she wasn't his home anymore. She wasn't anything anymore, she was simply a person that he loved, still loved with everything that made him who he was, but she was someone else's home now, and he had to get back to square one.

She could have cried just then, bawled until her eyes shot red from their sockets. She desperately wanted to crawl into him and never let go, but that would just make the leaving harder to bear, so she had to stay strong.

She wanted to be happy for him, so she smiled, nodded, now unable to look him in the eyes. "When?"

"Tonight." He whispered, and watched as her face bared her disapproval; the wounds of what he just told her ever present in her freckled, delicate features. She just nodded, eyes closed, heart stomped, trampled. He didn't want it to happen this way. He tried to breathe again, finding it hard to do so, and then he looked up at the ceiling, asking whatever higher power that existed on this Island to give him the fortitude to keep going.

"I can bring back help. It's our best chance—" He whispered, her booming denial cutting him short.

"You trust these people?" Her voice grew louder, sure to be heard past the doors behind him. "They are liars! Why would you believe a word that—"

"I trust them because you told me to, Kate…" It was his turn to raise his voice, to simmer and stew in his own rage. His eyes focused on her shirt, his voice now low, back to the register that only she could hear, "When you asked me to save Sawyer's life."

Where anger and disbelief once was, confusion stood proudly. _She_ told him to trust them? This was her fault? Her doing? Her creation? How did everything get so turned upside down? What was happening to the two of them? Had they destroyed each other without any acknowledgment of the damage they'd done? These questions left a trail of unanswered boulders in their wake, heavy against her heart, a heart that ached to beat again. If she knew that wanting to save Sawyer meant losing Jack, she wouldn't have taken that risk, and when he screamed at her to take Sawyer and run, everything switched, her world as she knew it shifted in a way that losing Sawyer wouldn't have played a part in at all. She refused to leave without him, but he gave her no choice. She loved them both, in different ways and for different reasons, but Jack, with him there was so much more to the emotion than her limited experience with the real thing could ever account for.

She was always so late with realizing these things, the ruins of her life left those she cared about the most fumbling, abandoned or dead. She was afraid that leaving Jack behind, against her will and choice in the matter, only to come back in the twenty-third hour, was a decision that will have repercussions for the rest of her life. She was too late, and she already felt new scars scratching at the ones that hadn't healed. She stared into the depths of his eyes, shell-shocked, her mouth open in her speechless stance, her spine suddenly erect.

She leaned into him, her fingers holding to him tighter, "Jack..." she shook her head again, her eyes were so lost, her brows furrowed in that dangerously deep crease, "what did they tell you?"

Instead of answering her, his eyes began to trail over every part of her face. She was so beautiful, so, so beautiful. The green of her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, the curve of her nose, the high beam of her cheeks, sprinkled with tiny brown dots of those adorable freckles, the luscious line of her lips, pink pulses that he ached to feel against his tongue again, the way that the untied tresses about her face bounced against her temples, the dark brown beside her ivory complexion made the picture so hard to turn away from, but he broke the spell.

He unraveled the impenetrable knot that their hands were now tangled in, and dug into his jean pocket to reveal a sterling silver-plated wrist-watch. A thin, chiseled gold ring circled the glass plate that sat over the face. Even though it no longer worked, it was in excellent condition for how old it was, Rolex watches were usually trusted to stand the test of time and this one sure had. It even survived the perils of a plane crash. He smiled at the sight of it, his adoration for the time-piece evident in the careful way he handled it. He held it up to her.

"This was my dad's," he blew a staggered breath, his emotions didn't have the muscle for this, but he continued. "He gave it to me the day I graduated from medical school. He told me that his father had given it to him when he graduated, and that I should give it to my son one day, when he was old enough to wear it proudly, when he had decided his place in the world. It was the only moment in my life he ever told me that he was proud of me. I planned to wear it to his funeral."

Tears pricked his eyes now, but he willed them away. He took her hand, uncurled her fingers and placed the watch into her open palm. "I need you to hold onto it for me, protect it, because once I get on that sub, you'll be the person it belongs to." She gripped the watch in her fist and pulled away from him with a sharp whimper of ache, turning so that he didn't see her wipe at her tears.

She didn't succeed, he was still leaving. He was going. He wasn't coming back to the beach with her, where memories of him would haunt her. What were they supposed to do without him? What was _she_ supposed to do without him? Nothing about her coming back had changed his mind. Wasn't it enough that he was going to get help? Wasn't she at the very least satisfied that there was a method, a purpose to his mission? In short, no. She wanted him to stay with her, as selfish as that sounded, she didn't care. She needed him to reconsider, but if he was passing such a prized possession into her hands, and asking her to care for it, then he was as good as gone.

"I asked you not come back here for me and I wish", the gulp of air that he took in felt heavy in his lungs, "…I wish that you hadn't." He pushed up from the chair, standing straight.

She was still crouched below, on the floor, devastated, unable to seal the hurt with the comfort of the watch that was still balled up in her fist. It wasn't enough. No one and nothing else was and ever would be. She could feel him coming closer, the squeak of his boots against the floor and the charge of the air drew her backwards, into him. He bent next to her, his hand placed over her bare shoulder, his cheek settled against her soft curls. She sunk.

"_But I will come back here for you_." The throaty, gritty whisper of his promise made her breath hitch, her battered heart bowed. Her eyes opened then, she couldn't see anything through the film of her tears. She could literally feel the warmth of the room dissipate the moment he stepped toward the door.

He hesitated for a split second; the cool pane of glass numbed his forehead as he leaned against it, the skin there hot, like every other part of him suddenly. She roamed through his system like a fever, molten and shivering. Will this need ever go away? He thought. With time, and with distance, it would, it had to, or his life would forever be tied down to a love he couldn't have. He pushed lightly at the door handle and walked out, into the darkness, and into a world where Kate wasn't allowed.


	2. Goodbye John

John Locke would never describe himself as the brightest, but as he sat like a waffling duck on the water's edge, he knew that he was the most patient and knew how to remain unseen. He watched as Kate and Sayid dispersed onto the compound, Kate making diligent but quick steps towards the door that Jack had walked through minutes before. Everything was about to change, he thought. He knew that Jack wouldn't be pleased with what he was about to do, that the brunt of anger and rage would fall on his head, because it always had, and he deserved it, but this time, he was as far away from feeling guilty as he could possibly be.

Kate's mission was always different. She wanted to save Jack, to bring him back to the beach, but Locke's aim was always different as well. He wasn't here to be Jack's knight and shining armor. How ridiculous did that sound? Rescuing the hero? Whatever Jack was up to, whatever he was doing with these people, there was a reason for it. Kate's inability to see that rattled him, but she wasn't thinking with her head at all, not even during the trek, when she was borderline shaking, fingers twitching at every mile they bested on the trail. This was a mission of the heart for her, and she was determined to believe only the best about the man she loved, it was just too bad that she might be up for a big fall. Sayid was just a loyal bystander, ready and willing to help Kate find his friend, but time was wasting away.

This was a part of the Island he'd never experienced before, the expansive, normal suburban neighborhood feel the compound possessed, which was incongruently framed by the backdrop of rough mountainside, the jungle at its banks. The houses, side by side, were completely uniform in color and design, void of any individual personality, which was probably to make everyone feel equal, a part of the ever-growing community. There was electricity, running water, he presumed. Everything was so perfect, and only a select number of people knew what Benjamin Linus was truly capable of. He was proud to finally be a part of that group, even if he wasn't formally invited. This was where Ben reigned supreme, and this was where Jack would get off the Island and that just couldn't happen.

A moment later, he was jostled from his thoughts by Kate's painful grunt as she was hauled out of Jack's barracks by one of Ben's security guards. She was trying to fight her capture, but it only made matters worse. It was obvious that the guard could care less if she was injured during the transition, more of a bug on the ground that needed to be squished than a woman who was half his size. Locke wanted to move from the bushes and help her, but he would only end up right next to her, and he had waited too long for this moment, to risk ruining it now. If they wanted to kill Kate, she'd be dead, so she wasn't in any direct danger. Sayid was dragged out soon after, taken in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Tom bellowed to the guard that was roughly transporting Kate to detainment.

Tom grabbed Kate's arm, and she was suddenly scared. She remembered his voice from when he and a few Others captured her in the jungle, when she trailed Jack, Sawyer and Locke to find Michael. "I'll take her." The guard relented, handing Kate over to the tall, large man that was more like second-in-command. "Head back to the offices, Ben just got word of what went down out here, and he'll want every detail accounted for." The guard nodded and walked towards the office building, leaving Kate in Tom's hands.

"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon, Kate." His sarcasm was just as acidic and potent as Ben's, she thought.

Amid the terror that was barking at her, she found her terrible attitude someplace nearby. "As if I'm here to see you at all." Her voice was toxic with her hatred.

He smiled. She was feisty, completely worked up, just as she was when they caught her alone, tailing Jack and his hunting party in the jungle, and when she refused to work on shelling rocks until she saw him. "What have you people done to Jack?" She was seething now, full-on accusatory.

Tom urged her with the pressure of his hand around her bicep to move towards one of the buildings at the other end of the compound. "Don't you think you should be a little more worried about your own situation? Ben will want answers and he won't stop until he gets them."

She tilted her head, trying to release a curl from the catch of her eyelashes. It finally let loose, dangled in the wind of the cool night. "I saw him playing football with you. He would never do that, knowing what you people did to us, all the pain you put us through."

"Well, then, it seems you don't know Jack at all, because we haven't forced him to do anything he didn't want to do. He's been living here with us, happily, the new compound attraction that saved Ben's life. Everyone has been nothing but indebted and kind." Tom saw the spark of sadness and loneliness in her eyes, with the dim of disappointment. She wasn't helping Jack at all by being here. He didn't need her.

He urged her up a short flight of stairs. "You're lying." She knew better than to trust these people. They were liars, thieves, murderers and she wouldn't trust that Jack was truly safe here until he told her so himself, and even then, she would question his sanity and his sense of loyalty.

He opened a door and lightly pushed her into the center of the game room. "You can believe that we're the bad guys, Kate, if it makes you feel any better about the fact that Jack was less than happy and enthused to see you, but it's not true."

Kate let go of a sardonic chuckle. "You're not the bad guys. Well, tell me what kind of people kidnap a pregnant woman in the hopes of stealing her baby once he's born? What kind of people hang a man from a tree, leaving him to die? What kind of people drag a defenseless woman out into the jungle, bludgeoning her to the point where she's not even conscious? What kind of people _kidnap_ children? If that's not the definition of bad or evil, then I don't know what is."

Tom stood corrected, but he still had more to add. "You know, that's funny Kate, because Jack said the same thing to me once, after you had already gone. You see, he was still in that glass house underground, a prisoner. You remember it, dontcha?" He smiled, and it took everything inside of Kate not to want to rip his tongue out of his mouth.

"Well, anyways, it was after the surgery, and he thought that what he had done, threatening to kill Ben so that he could save you, would get him killed. I expected him to fight, I wanted him to beg for his life, just for the satisfaction of seeing him on his knees, but he wouldn't even give me that. He was ready to die, basically daring me to kill him, because he knew that you were safe." He didn't even know why he was telling her this, but in some sense, he considered Jack a friend, and wanted this poor young girl in front of him to realize just what she rushed back into. This wouldn't be a clean extraction, with Jack agreeing to go back with her. He knew that this was what she still believed, no matter what he just said; his words meant less than nothing to her.

This was making Kate feel incredibly edgy, guilty for what Jack thought would happen to him. He thought that he would die there, alone? It was more than enough to make her cry, tears filling her eyes for the loneliness that Jack must have felt, the abandonment, the fear that he obviously never showed, but she dare not show them to Tom, who would love nothing more than to see her vulnerable and broken. She knew what he was doing by telling her all of this. He wanted her to let Jack go, but she would never give him the satisfaction.

"Jack was pretty intent on not trusting us back then, but we showed him that he could, and believe me or not, he does. He's with us now." He turned to leave, but thought that this was pretty fun, seeing her all ruffled and taken aback, faltering. "By the way, how's the other guy, the dirty blond with the accent that you left the cages with? What was his name? Oh yeah, Sawyer. He approve of you risking your life for the Doctor…again?"

Tom laughed freely, every chuckle battering Kate's already rattled thoughts. She hadn't thought of Sawyer in days, and doubted that she would start at the mention of him, but she did. She left the beach without so much as a 'See you later' or even an invitation to join her in finding the man that saved his life, both of their lives, but why bother? He certainly wouldn't and didn't, running off to play with the boys instead of organizing the rescue party for his so-called friend. She didn't tell him anything, because she knew that he would try to talk her out of what she knew in her soul she had to do, just like he had on the canoe. Lucky for him, all of his points about being unprepared for another go-around with their captors were true, so she let it go for the time being. She regretted nothing, allowing Tom's obvious attempt at throwing her off of her game and making her feel like she didn't belong right where she was to roll down her back.

"I'm gonna let you think about that one. Stay here. Don't do anything stupid. Again." He closed the door behind him before she could protest his instructions.

* * *

><p>Locke watched from his crouched position at the compound's edge as one of the larger barracks' windows brightened with faint light. He looked down into his bag, where the explosives were securely packed. He was running out of time. He stood slightly and moved towards the dock, when he suddenly heard a door slamming in the near distance. He crouched back down so as not to be seen, watching the open door. Ben rolled down the wooden ramp at his door and pumped his hands over the wheels of his wheelchair, moving fast through the cool night air. Against his better self, Locke smiled. It brought him great pleasure to see Ben so off of his game, so unsure of what to think or do, even the sight of his feeble legs being carried by a wheelchair made him giddy. As Henry Gale, he had the upper hand the entire time, he knew who he was and what he wanted within their camp, intel, and he'd gotten away clean, leaving blood and sadness smeared all over their camp. Now it was Locke's turn. Now he held the element of surprise, and he too would get away clean.<p>

In that instant, a man, dark hair, tanned complexion, collared shirt with a bag slung over his chest and shoulder, walked onto the courtyard, with steely purpose in his stride. He moved towards the building that Ben just entered, carrying a piece of paper in his hands. Locke felt like something was very weird about that, about a man coming from the darkened depths of the jungle at this time of night with a fragile piece of paper, walking as if the heavens and earth depended on its careful delivery. Who was this man? It was like he had appeared out of nowhere.

He waited some more, because he wasn't sure who would show up next. Moments later, Jack and Tom appeared, walking towards the building where Kate was being held. Eventually, the courtyard was vacant. This was his chance. He moved swiftly, quietly towards the edge of the compound, to the dock station, the water shimmering in the moonlight. Then he waited, watching as a guard stood on patrol, a rifle in his hands, ready and willing to aim and shoot at anything that moved in the still night. Locke moved deftly, with the grace of a crane and the determination of a bull. The guard heard the rustling of leaves and reacted, his rifle's tip pointed in the direction of the sound. The guard moved to inspect it, but there was nothing. Before he could turn around, he felt large hands gripping his face. In one quick snap, Locke twisted the guard's neck, killing him instantly. He walked over the guard's lifeless body, onto the squeaky floorboards of the loading dock. He could see the top bunk of the submarine in his sights. The light at the end of the tunnel, he mused. He pulled out his rifle from the edge of his back and moved towards the submarine. He was home free, but he didn't go far.

"Freeze!" Locke stopped at the throaty command. He heard the guard, Pryce, prepare his weapon for fire. "Drop the gun and put your hands behind your head."

Locke did as he was told, dropping the gun and placing his hands at the back of his head. Pryce inched closer and closer onto the dock, his gun still pointed at Locke's back.

He gripped the cuffs that dangled from his belt, but when he came back up, he met the violent drive of Locke's elbow across his nose, causing him to fall to the ground, losing his balance and his gun. Locke attempted to run for the submarine, but Pryce tripped him, watching as he collapsed to the floor. Pryce dodged Locke's attempts to kick him away as he pulled himself up and mounted himself atop him, determined to stop him. More elbows flew in Pryce's direction, but he missed. In the struggle, a strap of Locke's bag unraveled, sending it to the dock's edge, almost falling into the water. Another elbow connected with Pryce's face, he pulled away with a grunt of pain. Locke made it to his feet, and pulled out his knife from its pocket on his belt, wielding it mightily, daring Pryce to come after him.

Once Pryce caught his bearings, he ran after Locke in a fit of rage. Punches flew and fell, grunts of exertion filtered through the trees. A fiery fist met Locke's nose, blood immediately spewed, his knife flung out of his hand. They kicked each other, going for the knees, the groin, whatever they could. Each fought dirtier and dirtier the longer the fight persisted. Once Pryce was free from attack, he tackled Locke, his shoulder connecting with Locke's midsection, driving him into a nearby post. Locke clasped his hands together and brought them down hard over Pryce's back. The man's grip on Locke loosened, and after one more fatal blow to his back, Locke was free, watching as Pryce crumpled to the floor, tired, beaten, defeated.

Locke picked up his knife, not aware at all that Pryce was reaching feebly for his handgun that lay abandoned nearby. He soon gave up on it, too tired to stretch any further. Locke turned, stood over Pryce's body. Then he kneeled, and for the first time, Pryce could see the bloodthirsty glint in Locke's eyes, his features bloodied and dirty as a dim stream of light from a nearby light-post fell over his face. He would show no mercy. Locke poised the blade of his hunting knife over Pryce's throat, intent to slit it in half, when he heard his name in the distance.

"John!" He looked up to see Ben, with Tom, Richard, and one guard, all of them flanking him on each side. Damn. While Locke's attention was elsewhere, Pryce finally got a hold on his handgun, gripped it and pointed it at Locke's temple.

"Drop the knife…" Pryce instructed through heavy bouts of breathing, and instead of dropping it, Locke steadied his grip on it, pushing the blade a little further into his throat, his eyes never leaving Ben, daring him with the unbreakable gaze. He wasn't going to give up that easily. Killing one of his men right in front of him could be fun, Locke thought.

"Do it now or I'll blow your damn brains out!" Pryce demanded with the raspy, winded groan of his voice. Locke slowly allowed his knife to slip from his hands and away from Pryce's neck, which was red with a smear of blood from a cut that wasn't fatal. Locke allowed Pryce to stand while he stayed crouched to the floor. "Put your hands behind your head and don't even think twice or I will pull this trigger."

Alex, Ben's sixteen-year old daughter, sat in the bushes that separated the dock from the rest of the compound. She saw everything. The very physical, very bloody, cutthroat battle between Pryce and Locke, a man she'd never seen before, but was obviously very dangerous and very lethal. She managed to stay hidden, until her father showed up with three guards, and then she had to make her presence known, because he would never allow her around this kind of situation, but she wanted him to see that she could handle the world that he continually kept a secret from her, that she wasn't this little princess that needed his protection.

"How did I know you'd be here?" Ben was now inches away from Locke's crouched position on the floor.

Locke sniffed, trying to determine if Pryce had broken his nose. It spilled with more blood. "Hello Ben. You miss me?"

"Not nearly as much as I thought I would." He looked over at the backpack, which was slightly open, revealing. "I take it you're not here to see that Jack makes it back to your camp." He noticed the mischievous glint in Locke's eyes. Good things never came about because of it. "What's in the bag, John and why were you headed for my submarine?"

A guard grabbed Locke's bag, revealing a heavy bundle of C-4 explosives to Ben. He recognized the labeling and the packaging. He was resourceful, and sneaky, and up to something bigger than mere revenge. He was trying to keep Jack on the Island by blowing up the submarine.

"Dad!" Alex said, revealing herself from behind the bushes. "What's going on?" She looked up to see Locke at his knees, hands behind his head, the barrel of Pryce's handgun still pointed at his temple, blood trailing down the front of his shirt. They looked even graver up close, she thought, both men bloody and bruised, like they'd just come from a death-match, the obvious victors. The vision startled her and forced her to want to stop whatever was about to happen. "Are you gonna kill him?"

"Alex, go home." Ben instructed. Locke watched the exchange carefully. Everything about Ben changed when he believed that his daughter had witnessed even a second of this. Ben was worried about his daughter, protective, fiercely so. She just might be the only thing that Benjamin Linus ever cared about. Locke took note of that as he watched her scoff at her father's command.

Alex made a move akin to stomping her foot in defiance. "You always say that! I just—"

"Alex, I said go home. Now!" Ben's patience was spent, waning between Locke and Alex, an enemy who wanted to thwart his every move and a teenage daughter who tried her best to defy him at every turn. "Tom, get her out of here." Tom walked towards Alex, and she knew that there was no escape, no compromise, and no way would she be allowed to see how this played out.

"Come on sweetie, lets get you home." Tom said, watching as Alex rolled her eyes at him. She backed away from the dock, headed home, with Tom right behind her.

Ben took in Locke's bloody, battered expression. "I have to hand it to you, John. I almost overlooked the docks, simply because I thought that whoever would be out here, waiting in the wings, would just come after me."

"Not everything is about you, Ben." Locke reminded him.

Footsteps approached, two to three people tops. From around the bushes, Jack, Juliet and a guard revealed themselves, stepping onto the prelude platform, before the wooded bridge of the docks. Juliet was the first to turn, taking in the scene before her. She stopped. Jack stopped at her abruptness, and turned to where she was looking. The only figure he cared to notice was a dilapidated John Locke, bloodied, brought to his knees, a gun pointed at his head.

"John?" Jack never thought he'd ever have to see Locke ever again, even hoped for it in some cases. It was just his luck that he put himself right in the middle of the Island and the submarine, his means of rescue for them all. "What are you doing here?"

Locke shrugged, smirking a little, blood drying over his lips, and down his chin. "I'm sorry, Jack. I had to try."

Jack's pulse sped up to a dangerous tempo. "Try to do what?" He could literally feel the headache coming on.

"Try to keep you on the Island, Jack." Ben filled in the details, happy to spin them while he was at it. "He came with Kate and Sayid, not to save you, but to blow up the submarine. He's trying to trap you here, Jack. Yet again. And he would have succeeded if I hadn't decided to come out and check the docks myself, to ensure that you depart safely." Locke could hear the pretense in Ben's voice. This trip to the docks had nothing to do with Jack, and everything to do with Ben sending a very powerful message, that it was impossible to go unseen and unheard, not on his turf. This was all about exerting his power.

Jack's eyes turned dark, and not just any dark, pitch black. "You son of a _bitch_." He never knew hatred like this for another human being, but his feelings for John Locke went far and beyond what he thought was possible in his heart. He hated him, for what he always did, especially for what he was doing right now. This time, he'd gone too far. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Locke shook his head. "I'm not doing this to you, Jack, I'm doing this for you."

Jack let go of a sharp, sarcastic huff, his eyes burning with distrust and defiance. "Are you insane?" He moved closer. "For _me_? You're blowing up a submarine and it's all for me." Jack's tone ran the gamut of enraged to all-out incensed within seconds. He approached, his fists ready to pummel Locke's face until it was black and blue. "What is it that you _think_ you know? Why is this _Island _so important to you? Huh? Answer me!"

"Jack." Juliet brought her hand to his forearm, urging him to back off. Locke had been through enough, Juliet though. She can only be grateful that he was caught. If it weren't for that, she would gladly allow Jack to rip him apart.

"I know enough Jack. I know that from the moment we all arrived here, there was something about this place that brought us here. None of this is a coincidence." Locke turned his eyes to Ben, who sat watching the exchange with a pleased grin on his face. He had to love this. "Ben wants you to believe that he's doing you a favor, but he's not Jack. He's only out for himself. Nothing he ever does has anything to do with anyone but himself."

Jack scoffed, exaggeratedly. "So, this has nothing to do with you, John? Blowing up the submarine is your valiant effort to save me from my own destruction? Is that right? No, you're doing this for yourself." Locke protested, but Jack ignored it. "It doesn't matter. I've heard enough of your bull about destiny and being brought here for a reason. It all started with that damn hatch and that button."

Locke's voice went into a full growl, pleading, just as frustrated with Jack as he was with him. "Don't you remember why Desmond was down there Jack? Don't you remember why he felt the need to push that button? Because he thought he was saving the world. We decided not to press it one day, to let the clock run down to zero, but it imploded Jack. The hatch imploded, it's gone. I believe it now. I believe in what Desmond was doing. He was—"

"I won't listen to this," Jack barked, and brought an impatient hand through his hair. "Desmond _thought_ he was saving the world, but he wasn't. The hatch is gone you said, but look at us, John, we're still right here, right now. Nothing has changed. My leaving the Island won't change anything. It won't affect anything. It's all a bunch of lies you told to make yourself feel like you belong somewhere. Well, I don't belong here, John. Maybe you do, but I don't."

"This is your destiny, Jack. The more you fight it, the longer it'll haunt you."

His teeth clinched, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, but there was a pause, as if Jack was deliberating what Locke was telling him. He noticed the slow pace of thought. Jack's eyes steadied, then blinked. Was that sympathy Locke saw in his eyes? Maybe even respect, some shard of acknowledgement long buried coming to the surface? If Locke had blinked, he would have missed it, that's how swift it came and went. "I told you, I don't believe in destiny. I never have and I never will."

He could see the denial, the struggle, in Jack's eyes, in how the anger seemed to drain from his features, and nothing was left but an uneasy resignation. It was the mirror image of the look he shot in his direction when they debated over the hatch door, and the rare opportunity it presented to learn more about the place he claimed to despise.

"Yes you do Jack. You just don't know it yet."

What Locke thought he saw in Jack had left with the cool wind that swept over the dock. "The last time you said that to me, I helped you open that hatch door, not because of some grand destiny, but because I thought that every man, woman and child on that beach was in danger, but I let it get out of control. Desmond left and there we all were, stuck pressing a button we had no real explanation for, because I didn't stop you from making everyone believe that it meant something."

He was content to blame himself for the monster of John Locke, because he hadn't done an effective job of keeping the group safe from him, from his influences, his wild goose chases, his imagination. Boone had already paid the ultimate price, and Jack would get off the Island, and come back before anyone else could fall victim to it. "But it didn't mean anything. Your precious Island is just a speck of ink on a map, John. I'm sorry, but that's all it ever was."

Locke's eyes never wavered. "It's important to you too Jack. You just can't admit that to yourself yet, but you will." He grunted against the hissing sting that shot from the bridge of his nose. "When you get off this Island, when you see your world without it, you'll do anything to get back here again".

Jack shook his head, sadly. The old man will never learn. "You want to know what I'm really sorry about, John? I'm sorry that you're just a lonely old man who wants to be special." The hurt in Locke's eyes was palpable, heart-wrenching. He bowed his head, crushed. In that moment, Jack scored. The final nail was in the coffin and there was no way to pull it back out.

"Goodbye John." He turned his back on Locke and walked up to Ben.

"I take it your time with Kate was adequate enough for a proper goodbye."

Jack nodded shortly. "Yes. It was. You remember our deal? The second that sub leaves, you let Kate and Sayid go."

"Yes, I remember Jack. What about John? You don't seem too worried about what happens to him." Ben cocked his head in Locke's direction.

"That's because I'm not." Jack shook Ben's hand, and that only fueled the bout of defeat that bubbled in Locke's chest. Jack took Juliet's hand, and looked into her eyes. "You ready to go?"

She smiled at his handsome face, her fingers squeezing lightly over his large palm. "Absolutely."

They walked down the length of the dock, hand in hand. Ben watched them, a gleam of jealousy in his eyes; he blinked it away and eventually turned to Locke. He knew that his old friend could read the deceit and treachery in his eyes. Locke knew in the depths of his soul that Jack leaving this Island was the worst fate imaginable for them all, but Ben seemed completely satisfied, almost at peace watching Jack walk towards the submarine. Locke's groans of resistance traveled down the dock, for Jack to hear as he boarded the submarine.

"You can't do this, Jack!" Locke was at his most open, his most desperate. "Jack! You're making a mistake! Jack! JA—" Before he could plead any longer, one of the guards tied a tattered cloth over his mouth, tying it tightly at the base of his head. Locke still screamed over the bondage, his throat raw.

The edge of the handle of Pryce's handgun crashed down over the back of Locke's head. He collapsed to the ground, his cheek hugging the cracked wood of the dock floor. His eyes fought to stay open, and in their fight, landed on Ben's deceptive beam. Then there was nothing, nothing but darkness.


	3. Rather Die Young

Kate opened her eyes, blinking furiously. Through the tiny slits of her swollen eyelids, she felt the sunlight streaming through the windows of the game room's doors, stinging her already sensitive vision. She must have cried herself to sleep after Jack left; she had the headache and scratchy eyes to prove it. Everything was so cold, the concrete beneath her, the handcuffs around her tender wrists, the watch that was now resting lightly in her palm. Her heart felt like it dropped into the center of the Earth, it no longer felt like it was a part of her, broken pieces scattered, unclaimed.

She brushed her now fuzzy curls away from her forehead, and forced her brittle bones to rise. She backed herself up against one of the pool table's legs and bent her knees, propping her head onto them as she allowed the last few hours to sink in. Jack had actually left her there, but he was still doing things for her, promising to come back for her. Her eyes landed on the empty folding chair, where he once sat, where she last saw him, talked to him, touched him. It was the last straw that held her emotions together, it buckled under the pressure. She felt the hot, angry tears release from her eyes, and all control slipped from her fingers. She wept; small murmurs of sobs grew louder, until she couldn't breathe. She took a moment to catch her breath and found she lost it just the same. She swiped at her tears, trying with all the strength she had left to reel them in, but looked down at the watch that he left in her care, a ray of sunlight tinkering over the large band. Against the sadness that settled over her, she smiled as she wiped at her cheeks. She would care for it with everything she had until he returned, until she could give it back to him.

She heard someone open the game room's door slowly, as if not to disturb her. She scrambled, pushing the watch into her pocket before her visitor could enter and see it, and ultimately take it from her, the only thing of Jack, besides her memories and good faith, she had left.

"G'mornin', Kate." Tom stopped at the door, watching as Kate scratched at her swollen eyes, her head pulsating with an ache that wouldn't go away anytime soon. She looked terrible, broken, destroyed. Compassion swelled inside of him, seeing this small woman, who was so mighty and full of fire turned into the heaving pile of wreckage overnight. "Sleep well?"

She said nothing, just stared off into the distance, unmoved, uncaring, as if Tom hadn't walked into the room. Of course she didn't sleep well, and if it wasn't for the bout of exhaustion the previous days' events had caused, she wouldn't have slept at all. She realized that she knew what Jack had felt after she and Sawyer escaped the cages. He was alone; he thought he was going to die, certain of it, daring Tom to go through with it, just so the pain could go away. She felt the same at this point, she found herself void of any concern for her well being. Ben wasn't going to just let her go, that much she knew. He could very well have had Tom come in here to finish her off, to bloody his hands with her. What she gathered of him from her extensive exposure to his cunning and conniving ways, he would do with her whatever he pleased, and she couldn't find the nerve to care.

She wiped at the moisture that settled over her upper lip, abandoned tears pooling there. Her voice was harsh, cracked. "Jack's really gone, isn't he?" This wasn't a dream. The watch proved that he was gone, that it was all a very present reality, but she just needed someone to confirm it for her. Was it desperate that she already missed him so much she couldn't fathom another day of this…emptiness?

Tom shook his head. "Yeah, he left last night." She bowed her head in her hands; her headache was rearing its ugly head again. "I'm sorry, Kate." None of the Others had any idea that Jack planned to come back, but it still hadn't set in for her yet, that he was gone. She couldn't get past him no longer being attainable, to even be happy that he was coming back. She remembered trying to tell him just how much it meant to her that he was around, not just for her, but for everyone. _'If you weren't here, Jack…'_. He nodded, because he understood. He just…understood. Now she would have to live on the other side of that coin. She couldn't even articulate what her world would be like without him, and now she had to live it, for however long it would take him to come back. It was the most terrifying she'd ever felt.

She let out a long, frail breath. "Where's Sayid?"

Tom came closer, standing over her. "He's nearby. Safe. A little banged up, but safe." He cocked his head, watching her massage her achy temples. "Aren't you gonna ask about John Locke? Seeing as how he's here too."

Her gaze shot to his, her mouth opened, but Tom brought his hand up to stop her from telling another lie. "One of the guards found him on the dock with a bag full of C-4. He was gonna blow up the submarine, Kate. Did you know he was trying to do that?"

Damnit, she thought. She knew, somewhere deep down that Locke had no real interest in saving Jack, but she never thought that his insistence on taking the dynamite had anything to do with blowing up a submarine. She should have seen his true intent when he pushed Mikhail through the pylons, when she had plans to trade his life for Jack's. He was making his own plans, objectives that often conflicted with her own. How did he even know that Jack was planning to leave the Island? She thought. John Locke was still a mystery to her, and quite frankly, a mystery she didn't care to solve. He was his own problem, not hers, but she couldn't stop the guilt from seeping in. She brought him along, she accepted his help, and if he had succeeded in his attempts to stop Jack, he wouldn't have gotten off the Island. She didn't quite know how to feel about that. Her emotions were still caught in between the torrent of losing Jack and the hopeful prospect of rescue, of getting as far away from this place as possible. She was beginning to believe that prison provided a new amicable atmosphere than this Island ever did.

"I had no idea what he was planning to do." She answered honestly, shaking her head.

Tom could actually tell that Kate had no idea what Locke's aims were. She couldn't have possibly faked the surprise in her eyes. "Get up, let's go."

She stayed on the ground, her legs not moving an inch, but her eyes were bugged, startled. "Where are you taking me?"

Tom could hear the fear and distrust in her voice, and he was getting pretty tired of it. "Oh, I'm just gonna take you out back, shoot you in the head and let you fall into the mass grave that we dug." She didn't appreciate his sarcasm, rolling her eyes at him as he chuckled, his wide girth jiggled as he did so. "It's pretty convenient keeping all the dead bodies in one place."

She rose to her feet, using the pool table at her back to steady herself. She went willingly to Tom, who still stood at the door. She looked up at him, her eyes blank, lifeless, her cheeks stained with her cries. She wiped at the remnants of her tears, but really no longer averse to Tom or anyone seeing how devastated she was. The cuffs had chaffed her skin, small blisters, scrapes formed over her wrists, but Tom made no move to remove them. He just took her upper arm in his hand and ushered her out into the morning sun.

* * *

><p>They eventually stood on the porch of one of the barracks. Tom proceeded to play out a special knock on the front door, a secret code for entrance. The door was opened by a guard that Kate recognized from the night before, the one who was intentionally throwing her around. He cocked his head, allowing the two of them entrance into the quaint living area of the home. Kate looked around, assessing her surroundings. Pictures of a young girl with curly brown locks just like her own were scattered over the walls. Several bookcases packed with bookends were aligned next to the charming love-seats, covered with an array of homey quilts. Tom brought her to the kitchen, turning her around a corner until she saw Ben, sitting at the dining table with an array of staple breakfast foods placed in front of him. Kate's temper immediately went into overdrive at just the sight of him. He brought out the very worst in her, for good reason. There was something about his face that made her want to punch his lights out, repeatedly, until she drew blood.<p>

"Good morning, Katherine." Ben dropped the newspaper that he was reading next to his plate, a fluffy stack of pancakes sat on the ceramic dish, a light aroma of smoke floated in the air, reaching the famine of her nostrils. "You can remove those cuffs, Tom."

Tom shook his head. "You sure about that, boss? I don't—"

Ben eyed Tom with scathing playfulness. "She's not going anywhere, Tom. There are three guards outside that door that will have her back in place if she tries anything." Tom pulled out a set of keys and removed the cuffs from Kate's raw wrists. He looked between her and Ben, somewhat nervous about what Ben was pretty confident about. "You can leave now, Tom." Ben droned, watching as Tom realized that he was intruding on whatever Ben had planned. He exited the room, leaving Kate to Ben's devices. She rubbed at the irritated skin of her wrists, her eyes meeting his and then crawled over the surfaces and details of his kitchen. He kept his gaze on her, just as scrutinizing and painfully cryptic as ever.

His hand extended to indicate the empty chair right across from him. "Please sit. There's plenty for the both of us."

She hesitated at first, but decided that rebelling at this point wouldn't do any good. She was captured, surrounded, so she sat down, but not without her personal perusal of the man across from her. She took a seat, noticed the folded newspaper next to his thin glass of orange juice. "They have papers on the Island?" Was her meager attempt at small talk.

"They do on this side of the Island." Ben revealed, flapping the paper into the air, before dropping it back to where it sat on the end of the table. "I get them specially delivered by the bundle every other week. I like to keep up with current events."

She knew that the Others had contact with the outside world, from what Mikhail told her during the trek about the station he was working in. Ben was blocking the signal somehow, he had to be, which explained why that first trek to catch a signal for the transceiver was an abominable failure. He took control of their rescue prospects from the moment their plane crashed, and it made her hate him even more. She let the subject fall to the ground, and struck right at the heart of her current curiosity. "Why are you feeding me breakfast?"

Ben's thin lips curved into a nostalgic smile. "Because I wanted to invite you into my home, because you must be hungry, and because I have no intention of sending you on your way on an empty stomach. You traveled a _very_ long way to rescue Jack, it must hurt that he left you behind anyways." He knew that last ding would hurt, and it had. He watched as her eyes fell to her lap. He poured steaming hot coffee into his cup, a curt smile on his face. "It's just like old times. You and me, pouring coffee over a nice fruit bowl, eggs, waffles. All that's missing is a nice view of the water, the sand."

Kate cracked a small, mocking smile, her eyes steaming with annoyance. This wasn't about her stomach; this was Ben sticking her nose into the obvious pain she felt because Jack left, even though she came back, pleading on her knees that he stay. He was merely pouring salt over her wounds.

"We're missing more than that. Drugging me, kidnapping me and forcing me into a dress that belongs to your daughter, before you throw me into a filthy bear cage." Her smile had been wiped off her face long ago, and it brought Ben's unnervingly cheerful mood down a notch or two. It was obvious that Kate wasn't as forgiving as Ben hoped she would be. It was her turn to ignite the sarcasm. "Other than that, yeah, just like old times."

He laughed, bringing his coffee cup to his lips, sipping the piping hot liquid with care. Her fire had returned, as if it never left. "Touché."

He dropped his coffee cup back in its proper place before picking up his knife and fork. "I hope that spending those last moments with Jack helped you with the transition. I actually advised him against going to see you, but he insisted." He went back to cutting his mountain of pancakes into bite-size pieces. "It was simply foolish of you to come back here, Katherine. I'm not sure why you would, unless you have a death wish that you can't wait to come true."

She watched him chew diligently, so content, so still, after ripping away the only person that began to matter more to her than all the rest. "I came back here, because I thought Jack needed my help. I thought he was in danger." She hung her head on that last part, because she had been wrong. Jack had a plan in motion, a surefire plan that he must have thought about in grave detail, and she almost ruined it. One mission crashed smack-dab into another.

Ben shook his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his masticated bite. "It's very unnerving what you two are willing to do for one another." He wiped the sticky syrup from his lips. "Jack was willing to let me die to keep you safe and you were willing to die yourself, risk being thrown back into that cage, just to save him." It was his biggest annoyance, he thought, watching these two get sucked into a vortex of attraction and admiration that they would deny themselves if asked outright by anyone who noticed the fierce draw they had to each other.

Ben leaned into the table, his beady eyes penetrating, piercing. "How exactly were you planning to save him, Kate? Did you not expect that I would catch you? Did you expect to just grab him and run, as if I never had the proper precautionary measures in place, like cameras in every room of his quarters? It seems that you've forgotten that I'm full of surprises."

Kate cleared her throat, never wavering as Ben's eyes cut straight through her. "You never counted on the fact that I knew anything about this place, where to find it and how to get to it. It seems that you've forgotten that I'm full of surprises myself." Ben nodded shortly. She had him there. He believed that the compound would always be safe from intruders, because he never left a trail between the many points on the Island that he traveled that would lead anyone back here. She was full of surprises, that was true, but he was still determined to believe he had her completely beat.

"Did you really let Jack go home?" The question came tumbling out of her mouth before she could think it through. It was the first time since sitting down with Ben did she show any sense of brokenness, true, bold despair. Ben could almost feel sorry for her…almost.

"Yes, Katherine. He's still on the sub as we speak, safely on his way back to the States. Why would you ask me that?"

Kate's lips pursed into a thin line, her temper ready to flair at that ridiculous question, but she decided to play it cool. "Because you're a liar. You're a murderer and you manipulate people, and I don't want Jack to get caught up in your games."

Ben chuckled, a child-like giggle that left Kate fetching for its meaning. "If that's the case Katherine, then why did you come back for him? To get him back to the beach, so that you can toy a little more with his heart? Flock to Sawyer when Jack doesn't show you the affection you felt he never reciprocated." He leaned into the table again, using his forearms for support. He wanted her to hear this last bit loud and clear. "You see, the difference between you and me, is that I gave Jack what he desperately wanted, a way off this Island. What have you given Jack that he ever truly wanted or needed, Katherine?"

A full scowl marked Kate's features. "You know nothing about my relationship with Jack."

"I know enough. I know that there's this extraordinarily powerful connection there, which you consistently fumbled with, because you weren't at all prepared for what Jack was asking of you, you never knew how to handle what you felt for him. Those damn issues with being good enough didn't help matters either. Your mother choosing to stay with your biological father, a man who beat her, turned her face black and blue for sport never left you, poisoned you against feeling deserving of anything that was any good. So one night, you put your drunken old man in his bed, rigged the house to blow once he woke up to light a cigarette. You have quite a rap sheet that stems from that heinous crime, but pre-meditated murder usually stands out." Ben finished on a breath, because during his diatribe, he hadn't taken one. The dazed look of astonishment on her face almost made him lose the battle with maintaining his poker face.

"Jack was simply too much of what you never felt deserving of, because well, the good guys never get away with their lives intact when they get romantically involved with you, do they Katherine? Tom, your childhood best friend, killed right in front of you, because he refused to leave your side, even though you left him long before. Kevin, the man you lied to, married and left behind, because your past was catching up with you. I guess Jack just got off easier than the ones who came before him."

She swallowed hard. "How do you—"

"Know all of this?" Ben interrupted, casually wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin that sat in his lap. "I like to do my homework on the people I decide to drug, kidnap and force into my daughter's clothing." He looked over at her, drab laughter in his eyes. "A word of advice, the next time you decide to fall in love while on the run, don't fall for a cop. That's a disaster too big for my feeble brain to comprehend."

He continued with his assessment, lathering grape jelly onto a piece of toast. "I guess Sawyer suited you more at the time. He never asked for anything that you didn't feel emotionally equipped to give, he never pushed you to change, to rise above, he didn't even care when you lied to his face, because from what I gathered, you did that, often." He dropped the piece of toast onto his plate, his face scrunched in curiosity. "By the way, I never found out what you and Sawyer did to pass the time in those cages." He cut a small piece from his sausage patty, and brought it up to his mouth, a snarly smirk on his lips. He shrugged. "I take it you figured something out."

Kate was silent now; her eyes fell to the ground, guilty, ashamed. Did he know about what happened in the cages? She thought, panicked that anyone knew what she and Sawyer had done. Ben had her right where he wanted her now, harboring the guilt of what she did, what he created the circumstances for her to do, what he orchestrated to break Jack down into his most fundamental foe. He knew exactly what happened in the cages, it was so glorious to watch her scramble with remorse. He decided that he'd make it last.

"Then there's John Locke, who came here with you, someone you neglected to tell my guards about. He was trying to blow up the submarine, Katherine. How am I to know that you weren't a part of his plan?"

Kate's brow crinkled in confusion, her eyes stuck on a crack in the floor. "I wasn't…I didn't…" She couldn't form the words. She was here to save Jack, she had no idea that he planned to leave, and it still boggled her mind that Locke knew anything about Jack's plans and that his first order of business was to blow up the submarine.

"If you're worried about Jack being lonely off the Island, don't bother. Juliet went with him." Kate looked up at him then, her eyes bugged and shocked, jealousy bleeding through them like a war wound. "They got to know each other pretty well while he was staying here, a lot of things in common, not to mention their intellect. They could talk for hours about topics you've never even heard of. Both doctors, both spectacular in their respective fields, the absolute best actually. It seems like something was beginning there, something very special, maybe that can get somewhere once they're home. They make a very striking couple, yes?"

Kate didn't react, she just stared at him, unaffected, but brewing on the inside. She knew what he was doing, trying to unravel the unmitigated trust she had in Jack, but upon hearing about Juliet, she was suddenly scared that she may have lost her romantic chance with him, which was terrifying for her. She remembered the moments he shared with Ana Lucia and the train of jealousy and territorial protectiveness that tore through her, and Juliet had the same effect on her, and now Jack was be gone, with her, for who knows how long. Her eyes swam with tears.

"You don't understand what you did, do you? By telling him that you had to believe us, that you had to trust that we were gonna kill Sawyer, Jack had to believe that we could get him off of this Island. All that Jack did was listen to you, Katherine. That's all he did. You wanted him to do the surgery, and he did it. You were scared for Sawyer's life, so he saved him." He had her, completely, her proverbial battleship was sunk and he crowned himself the victor.

"I would offer my thanks, because if it weren't for you, Jack would never have—"

"You _bastard_. You evil, little, crippled _bastard_." She spit the words like a fire-breathing dragon, a tear escaping down her cheek, then another and another. "You want to thank _me_? Your goons were threatening to kill Sawyer right in front of me and Juliet told me that he would die if I couldn't convince Jack to do it. What did you expect me to do?" Her breathing went from still to raged. Her eyes cornered his face, making it obvious that she was vengeful, on the war path. "I needed to get to Jack, I needed that more than anything, but you made it impossible for me to even see him, and when I did, I couldn't even touch…" She broke off, clearing her throat, wiping at her tears.

Her voice dropped a full octave, dark, damp with her despair. "He wouldn't tell me where he was, what he was doing. I couldn't leave without him, but he wouldn't tell me anything. I didn't have a choice. So before you offer me your pretentious gratitude, know that if I had known that begging Jack to do the surgery meant that I would lose him, I wouldn't have told him to help you at all. I would have found another way, and I would have made sure that you never lived to see another day, you son of a bitch!"

Ben wasn't in the least bit shaken by Kate's contempt. "It's too bad that things didn't work out that way, I love my life too much to lose it, because you suddenly want to choose between the two men at your feet," His round eyes squinted deviously, "but Jack was never really at your feet was he?" He looked pretty proud of that one, which made Kate's eyes squint with steamy abhorrence, hot tears still falling from them. He was determined to destroy her, to drive the knife deeper, until it slit straight through her. He was succeeding.

"I'm happy for Jack. He's on his way to the comfort of his life before he ever got bogged down by the likes of you. It's only fitting that he's not alone. I'm sure Juliet will be great, sexy, intelligent, _beautiful_ company."

Her temper had reached its boiling point, all of her resolve was gone. "Fuck you."

Ben's face faltered with surprise, his eyelids moved to half-staff, then his features whisked into pure annoyance and anger. "Number one, you might want to watch your language, because I don't condone a foul mouth at my dinner table and number two, I don't think I can fathom any more of my generous pleasantries being thrown back in my face." He wheeled himself from the table, maneuvered the chair inches from Kate, the wheels brushing against the chair she sat in. "You need to forget about Jack, Kate. You need to forget that he was ever here, that he ever meant anything to you, because it will be pretty pathetic if you don't. He's not coming back. He's never coming back to you." She could see in his eyes just how much that alleged fact delighted him, and only she knew differently.

"A guard will come in here and he'll take you outside, and he'll let you and Sayid go, because Jack wanted that to happen, and I shook his hand and told him that it shall be done, because contrary to the what you think of me, I am a man of my word, that's the only reason I haven't gotten rid of you for good. But know this, if I hear one peep out of you, even one, if I see one toe of yours over the line, meddling where you obviously don't belong, I will _kill_ you, _Kate_." His voice was deeper, darker, heavier, far away from his normal mousey tone. He meant what he was telling her. Kate actually felt herself flinch at the acerbic verve of his voice just then.

"If you ever, and I mean, _ever_ decide to cross me again, I will shoot you _dead_ where you stand. Is that understood?"

Ben didn't give Kate time to answer or to even react to the obvious, bloodthirsty threat on her life, before he raised his voice. "Pryce!" A guard came into the room, one that Kate recognized from Jack's barracks. He was the one that asked her if anyone else was there besides her and Sayid. "Get her out of my sight. I'm done with her."

Pryce yanked at Kate's upper arm and ushered her towards the front door, pulling her down the stairs and onto the open courtyard. Sayid stood in the distance, the jungle at his back. He was silent as Kate approached him, his expression emotionless, trying not to show any outward emotions.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked once they were within earshot. Judging from the bruises peppered over his face and the dry blood that seeped from swollen wounds, he wasn't, not in the least bit, but he didn't break from character.

"I'm fine." Sayid said, his tone of voice and facial expression lifeless.

He was a torturer once, she remembered him telling her that, confiding that in her in a moment of trust and friendship. He'd spent years of his life intimidating his country's enemies with pain and even death, and he sat on the other side of that just now, but he was lucky to be able to walk away with his life. Kate could see the disappointment and anger in his eyes, and she would have to apologize to him for what he just went through. A guard unlocked his cuffs and took them from around Sayid's wrists. Tom stepped in front of them.

"You both should count your lucky stars." He said with authoritative awareness. "We're cuttin' ya loose. There's nothing we could possibly gain from keeping you here or from killing you. You are never to return here, because the next time you do, I have a feeling that Ben won't be so forgiving."

* * *

><p>Jack's eyes popped open, taking in the silent darkness that greeted him. He rose from his lounged position, gripping his lower torso and almost forgot that he was tucked into a bottom bunk, in one of the small dormitories on the submarine. He swerved, pulling his legs to the side of the bed until the soles of his shoes rested against the floor and the back of his head rested lightly on the brass fitting of the upper bunk's frame. He felt sick to his stomach, and completely wiped out, even though he had eight full hours of sleep the night before.<p>

Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins, or the thought of being home again after almost three months, after being presumed dead to the known universe, to his mother, the only family he had left. Maybe it was the dreadful fact that he wasn't bringing his father's body back with him. It could have been the ever present nauseating thud that always filled him at the disapproval of another one of John Locke's zany attempts to prove his zanier theories about the Island. Or maybe it was the fact that he would miss the people he was leaving behind, most of all Kate, whose scent still lingered on his skin, the vision of her tear-stained cheeks still greeted him when he closed his eyes.

He brought the back of his hand where she'd touched him to his nostrils, her signature, natural aroma was intoxicating, and the longer he sniffed, the sooner her scent was gone, like a trace that had been erased from his consciousness. He felt heartbroken by the dissipation of her fragrance, but just as he had decided the second he walked out of that game room, nothing lasted forever. He sat up further, his back hunched over, his fingertips rubbed at his closed eyelids as he tried to concentrate on his breathing.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Jack?" He whispered to himself. He could literally feel himself breaking into a cold sweat. Was he nervous about going home? Was he suddenly unsure of his own plan to bring back rescue? No, everything would be okay, as soon as he could get back to sleep, which wasn't going to happen as thoughts crashed together in his mind at warp speed. He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"You okay?" He heard Juliet ask from across the small that separated his bunk from hers. She was staring at him, lying on her back in the opposite bunk, her long, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder. She was such a beautiful woman, and had been such a good friend to him in a time when he'd never felt more alone.

"Yeah, I just…" He couldn't find an adequate excuse to give, so he opted for honestly. "Actually, I don't know what's going on. I'm not exactly someone who gets squeamish, and I'm feeling pretty out of sorts right now."

She rose from her reclined position, sitting directly in front of him, their knees met, brushed. "It's probably the pressure. The first time I was in this thing, I wasn't even awake for it." She laughed, smiling. "I drank the tranquilizer so fast, I basically passed out and had to be carried onboard, and once I woke up, we were on the Island."

Jack massaged his forehead, a light chuckle followed. "Must have been pretty embarrassing."

Juliet shrugged. "Yeah, it was at first, but then I thought about what was driving me to get to the Island. I wanted to make a difference, and I thought that the Island would give me that opportunity," she stared blankly, as if she were thrust back into bad memories long forgotten, "but it was all a lie."

"How so?" They had many conversations while Jack stayed in the barracks, many dinners shared and moments to get to know each other better, but they never talked about just why Juliet wanted so badly to kill Ben. It was a subject that they never explored. He presumed it was because they both had to play nice with Ben and the people that still knew nothing of what he was truly capable of. Now that they no longer had to hold up that pretense, she could tell him.

"Ben told me that he cured my sister's cancer, but then I found out that he himself had cancer, the tumor that he needed you to remove." She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers combing through the long tresses. "One day, I called him on it, told him he had cancer, called him a liar, because there was no way he could have cured Rachel's cancer and have it himself. It was impossible. So, the next day, he took me to one of the communication stations, and…," she swiped at a tear that seeped from her eye, "I saw her on the monitor, Rachel and _Julian_." She said his name with such care and love, the nephew she never got to meet, because Ben found it pertinent for her to continue her work on the Island. He did to her what he did best, dangled what she wanted more than anything right in her face, and snatched it away, promising to return it to her when he felt like it. Jack took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

Juliet met his eyes; the cerulean of hers matched her now solemn mood. "She was fine, her cancer was gone. She looked so happy." She laughed again, the edge of her giggles came out on the depth of an agonizing sob of joy. "In order for me to see them again, I had to get you to do it. I had to get you to remove the tumor. I had to play Ben's game. I'm so sorry I had to put you though all of that."

Jack brought his other hand over hers, enclosing it between the warmth of his palms. "It's okay. We all do crazy things to get to where we want to be."

Juliet's brow lifted. "So, does Kate coming back for you qualify as one of those crazy things? Even when you told her to never return?"

Jack laughed, a smile ghosted across his face, in spite of the fact that he should still be so angry with Kate, she could still make him feel things that he didn't want to feel. "I knew that she wouldn't leave well enough alone. She was just trying to protect me."

In true Kate Austen fashion, Jack knew that this was all she was trying to do, protect him from a situation she thought was harmful, even deadly, because she was subjected to a violent atmosphere from the moment she woke up from the drugs they'd given them. She had no idea what he'd done; he hadn't told her a thing. Would that have made it clearer for her? He thought. Did his choice to keep everything a secret from her force her into harm's way? Did he make matters worse for her and himself? No, he couldn't blame himself for this, Kate came back after he told her not to, no matter what he decided to keep to himself. There wasn't time to tell her, there wasn't a shred of desire inside of him to tell her, even when her blaring pleas deafened him.

His eyes were glued on a random spot in the distance. "She didn't think I meant it." He brought a trembling hand through his hair, obviously shaken. How could he not have meant it? He was boggled by the fact that she thought his command that she run until her feet bled was said just for the heck of it. He almost laughed at the absurdity.

Juliet bit the inside of her lip, trying to prevent herself from asking this, but she had to. "What did you two talk about…in the game room?"

Jack lifted his broad shoulders, and then let them drop. "Nothing much," he lied, looking her straight in the face, "I just said goodbye and wished her well. They were listening in anyways, so I kept it short, brief."

"Must have been hard, walking away from her." Juliet kept her eyes on his face, watching for any change in his expression. There was none, and the hope inside of her, the desire for Jack to be open to other romantic options, bubbled over the surface that contained it. "It's always been obvious that you care a lot about her."

He thought about how vague she'd just described his emotions when it came to Kate. He loved her, more specifically and frighteningly, he was in love with her, always was and always would be, which made leaving her behind feel like a limb was being treacherously ripped from his body. "Caring means you have something to lose." He couldn't lose again, so he wasn't even in the race to win and yet, he was going back for someone he was sure he could never have. It was official, he was a masochist, addicted to the pain that loving Kate so much it hurt would always cause.

Juliet didn't believe in the callous and cold façade that he was portraying, even in Locke's case. She didn't believe Jack capable of that kind of selfishness. She felt that she knew him better than that. "What about John? I don't believe that you don't care about what happens to him."

"John is...troubled." Jack shook his head, thoughts of Locke gave him a severe headache, and he was fighting off the needles of anger that spiked his temper whenever he thought of him. "I can't be involved in whatever he thinks he has to prove about the Island."

"What if you are?" She asked, playing the devil's advocate in order to help Jack sort through his jumbled thoughts. She watched his expression turn from pensive to dismissive.

He shook his head again. "I'm not. I can't be." He couldn't be, and better yet, he wouldn't be. Not now, not ever.

Juliet saw the resoluteness in his eyes, but there was still the strong torrent of trepidation, anxiousness underneath. She needed to fix that for him, so she reached for him and wrapped her arms around him, her chin resting against his shoulder. She sensed that he needed a hug, and he returned it immediately, the tension draining from the coiled muscles of his back and arms. They held each other for what felt like hours. Juliet rubbed her hands over the expanse of his back, enjoying the closeness more than she should have.

"It's all gonna be okay. Sooner or later, the Island will be as far from your mind as possible. It'll be like it never even happened."

"Yeah. I hope so." Jack knew that wasn't the truth, and he felt a bit guilty for not telling Juliet about his plan to come back to the Island to save his friends, but he had to keep that promise to Kate, even if it meant keeping it a well-kept secret.

He put it all out of his mind for the moment, as Juliet tightened her grip on him. Kate. The plan. Locke. The Island. He blocked it all from his conscience, if only for a second. He allowed himself this moment of vindication. He was going home, he finally made a way, and he smiled. It was a dream that was finally coming true, and, for the time being, that was enough.


	4. When You Want Something Done Right

Richard came up the steps of Ben's home, and opened the front door, ushering himself inside. Ben was found in his study, thumbing through a hardback, reading the words diligently and thoroughly. He was so engrossed in the book's printed word, he hadn't even seen Richard lean against the door frame, let alone walk into the room.

"Oh. Good morning, Richard," Ben snatched his reading glasses from his face and lowered the book into his lap, "Would you like some breakfast?"

Richard wasn't there for breakfast; pleasantries were the farthest thing from his mind. His stomach was not his first priority. The Island was, it always was. "You let them go. Austen and Jarrah."

Ben blinked, unsure of why Richard had a dubious tinge to his tone. "You were there when I shook Jack's hand, Richard. I promised him that I would, and I did."

Richard shook his head, satisfied with that answer, but there was something else, someone else rather, that rattled his poised, calm demeanor in a way that he hadn't experienced before. "What about John Locke?"

What _about_ John Locke? Ben wanted to ask, but refrained. "He's locked up in one of the boiler rooms of the office cottage. Armed guards are watching the door. It's not like he can go anywhere anyways." Ben sensed that wasn't the bit of information that Richard sought so ardently. "I take it you didn't come to inquire about his location."

Richard crossed his arms; his muscular forearms bulged under the fists that his hands hadn't released. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to his elbows as they always were. "He said some pretty extreme stuff out there on the dock Ben, about the crash, being it not being a coincidence. Do you know what he meant by that? Do you think he was talking about Jacob? Do you think he knows about him?"

"Do _you_ think he knows?" Ben asked.

Richard sighed, feeling incredibly overwhelmed and burdened by that one question. "No, I don't. But I can't fight the feeling that he's on to something," Richard moved closer to Ben, breaching the barrier of the small loveseat that sat nearby, "and that you stopped him, because he was getting too close." Ben pushed the book's cover closed with an impatient tap, and returned the hardback to his rightful location on the bookshelf. Richard sensed the irritation floating off of him in droves. He began to plead his case. "The plane did crash _here_, Ben. We both know that Jacob brings people to the Island to—"

"This wasn't Jacob." Ben's tone was sharp, tense, a far cry from his inviting pitch upon seeing Richard standing in his study moments before. "I would know if it was Jacob and it wasn't him. He didn't cause this." He folded his reading glasses and placed them onto a nearby table, and promptly put his hands in his lap. "Jack is right. John Locke is a very deranged, very peculiar man who wants to believe in something bigger than himself so terribly, that he's concocted this tall tale about his plane crashing on this Island for some grand purpose that escapes me to this day. He's chasing something that doesn't exist."

"So, he's wrong. He wasn't brought here for a reason, neither was Jack Shephard." Richard wanted assurance that this was false, that John Locke was indeed making all of this up, because if it were true, the Island would figure out a way to draw Jack back in, no matter how far he was. Its course-corrective abilities astounded him, most things about the Island had, but under Jacob's patient, kind tutelage, he realized that understanding came in due time, and those who wanted to understand had to be willing to sacrifice. Richard was asking Ben because he was the one who would truly know. Jacob had chosen Ben to be the receiver of his instructions, his many lists, a very important, crucial role to play, because Ben showed his loyalty, his allegiance to the Island. Richard had to be sure that what the Island wanted, what Jacob wanted, he would receive, and it all came down to Ben.

Ben sounded annoyed that he hadn't let this go yet. "Yes, Richard, and I resent the interrogation."

Richard shook his head quickly, "I'm not trying to interrogate you Ben, I'm just trying to figure out why he would try to blow up your submarine if it was just for his imagination. That's a big risk to take for something that was just in his head."

Ben looked up at Richard, his expression solemn, but firm, "He's had a hard life. His mother gave him away when he was just an infant. His father came back into his life years later to con him out of one of his kidneys, and pushed him out of an eight-story window when John wouldn't leave him alone. He left him in a wheelchair, and he was on that flight, because he wanted to take a _walk_about in the Australian outback. As ironic as that sounds, John believed he had something to prove, to the world, and more importantly, to himself. It doesn't get any more complicated than that."

Richard continued to look unconvinced. He didn't like that feeling at all. Ben finally relented and unraveled his plan, the next improvised step he would take. "John Locke doesn't matter to me and he doesn't matter to this Island, but it is of my interest to toy with, as you call it, his imagination, to agree with what he's saying, so that he has no choice but to follow my lead."

Ben could sense Richard's opposition before he could open his mouth, before the idea elicited any reaction at all, so he continued. "Feeding into his delusion is the only way to keep him under control."

Richard's eyes rounded with surprise, his thick eyebrows rose to the ceiling. Ben's mind worked in such devious ways sometimes, that it was no secret to anyone how he stayed in power for so long. "What are you gonna do? Create a story that you hope he buys, so that he joins us?" He paced towards to the door, his hands on his hips and turned back, facing Ben. "What if this backfires? What if encouraging him makes it worse?"

Ben wheeled himself towards his desk, his voice rushed. "If I agree with John, he'll see me as an ally, and not the enemy that he's painted me as in his head. He'll follow my advice; he might even ask me to help him. I'm sure of it."

Richard was incredulous, dumbfounded. Ben had way too much confidence in this plan. If he had showed at least a speck of uncertainty, of trepidation, then Richard wouldn't feel like he was standing on pins and needles, waiting for each and every one to pierce right through him. "You just let Jack off the Island, something that goes completely against what he was trying to do, and you think that after one conversation, he's just gonna pass himself over to you? You think he's that gullible?"

He paced once more, and then stopped, a thought swirled, settled. "And pardon me, but the last time you were sure John Locke would play right into your hands, you barely made it out of their camp alive."

The ends of Ben's lips twitched, a unruly smile breaking through, his assurance welling inside, remorseless. "No, I don't think he's gullible, not at all and yes, I barely made it back here with my life, but it was a risk that I would take again. I had to convince Jack to operate and you and I both know that if I had asked him politely instead of doing what I did, he would have thrown my medical history in my face," Ben looked up at the ceiling mockingly, his eyes shiny with slick humor, he turned them back to Richard, "Oh wait, he did that anyway."

Richard didn't look amused, pleased, or in the least bit complacent about this idea, but Ben was in his element. "Don't you see it, Richard? The desperation? The longing? John is determined to be right, or else he wouldn't be here, and the only way to reinforce that for him is to agree with whatever he says." Ben pointed between the two of them, "We have to be in control of what answers he's given, of what he knows to be certain and if he's with us, we can do that. But if he's against us, then there's no telling what he'll do next."

"I don't know about this Ben…" Richard expressed his skepticism, shaking his head, his eyebrows still raised in thought. "Maybe we should think of something else, something less radical."

"We're talking about a man who just tried to blow up my submarine, Richard. Anything less than radical is not good enough." Ben stopped his thoughts for a second, and met Richard's dark eyes, pleading for backup, for understanding. "It's gonna work, Richard. I promise. We have to protect the Island and we have to protect Jacob and this is the only way to do it."

Richard softened, his resolve melting at the insistence that this plan was for the Island's benefit, for Jacob's profit. "If John wants answers, he'll have to pay for them." Ben opened a drawer behind his desk and pulled out a walkie-talkie. He flipped one of the dials on the side and then spoke into the speaker with a stern, solid voice, his tone when he was getting down to business. "Pryce. Are you there?"

The hushed static on the other end buzzed until Pryce's voice came through loud and crystal clear. "Yes, sir."

Ben nodded, his eyes never leaving Richard's, who simply stared blankly at the exchange. "Good, because I'm on my way." He placed the walkie-talkie back into its proper drawer and wheeled himself past Richard and towards the door.

Richard turned. "Where are you going?"

Ben wheeled himself back around to face him. "To talk to John, of course." He cocked his head in the direction of the open door. "Care to join me?"

* * *

><p>Kate and Sayid had been walking through the lush flora of the jungle for hours, with no conversation. He walked in front, leading the way towards the beach, their home. A small machete knife that the Others allowed him to keep whirled at the flick of his wrist as he chopped another intruding branch out of place with a striking force. Its leaves flagged in what little wind that blew around them until it fell to the ground and perished under the heavy land of Sayid's boot. It was humid, hot, and the obvious tension between them baked in their convective ambiance.<p>

Kate untangled the strip of pale blue cloth from her long curls and combed at her hair with her small fingers, pulling the tresses that hung at her temples with the rest of her hair, and sloppily tying the ribbon back in place. Sometimes, she hated her hair, the tousled weight of it. It never wanted to be tidy and out of her face, always finding its way out of a ponytail, even from the grip of a tight, strong elastic. She was surprised that her improvised tear of a piece of cloth was working.

She pulled one strap of her bag from one of her shoulders, and opened it, relieved to find her canteen of water where it was before. While she was sure that the Others had rummaged through it for any evidence of foul play or some tracking system that could lead to where they were, she was grateful that they had given it back to her. She opened the can's top and generously poured the water into her mouth, suckling at the warm liquid thirstily. She hadn't had a drop to drink in a full day. She pushed the bottle back into her pack, and ran to catch up with Sayid.

"Hey! You wanna slow down for a second," she swiped at the sweat that gathered on her forehead, "maybe we can take a break." Sayid kept walking at the same speed, as if he never heard her. She groaned, and followed behind him, doing her best to catch up.

He swiped at a dangling vine, watching as it fell to the ground, avoiding Kate, who was sprinting towards him. "We don't have time to 'take a break'. Judging from how long we've been walking, we'll have to make camp soon and I'd like to make use of as much sunlight as possible before we have to."

Kate continued to be adamant about stopping, flapping her arms in irritancy. "Do we have to go so fast? It was morning when they let us go, and we've been walking for two, three hours tops. I'd say that we have around six more hours of sunlight maybe more—"

Sayid, disgruntled and tired, avoided the rest of her reasoning. "I'm very much aware of how much sunlight is at our disposal and yes, we have to go this speed. If you don't mind, I'd like to make it back to the beach as quickly as possible, and put this dreadful experience behind me." He thrashed the sharp weapon spartanly, using the tool to exert the frustration that he was too angry with Kate to direct her way. Whenever Sayid was angry or disappointed, he just reserved his judgment, and stewed of his own accord. It reminded her so much of how Jack used to react whenever he was angry with her. She hated when he bottled himself up, until she couldn't read him any longer, whether he cared or not, whether he was still as invested as she was. He was an enigma of a read sometimes. But Sayid, he wasn't so good at his poker face.

Sayid continued on his worn path, his grip on the machete violently tight. She stopped, huffed, the strength of her breathe blew away the strands of hair that were caught in her eyelashes. "I get it, okay? You're mad. You're not just mad, you're mad at me." She was trying really hard to take his anger as it came, but she was faltering. He stopped walking, his back still turned, but listening.

"I'm sorry Sayid. Okay. I'm sorry that—"

Sayid finally turned to her, the hurt in his eyes cutting through Kate's resolve to get through her apology. "I trusted you. I trusted you when you told me that Jack would come back with us, that you could get through to him, even after I saw him merrily congregating with those people, and you were wrong." He said it with such passion, such embarrassment for trusting that she was doing the right thing. "Jack was of sound mind when we saw him and he was of sounder ability when he left. He wasn't drugged and he wasn't being manipulated in any way whatsoever."

Kate stared at Sayid with distressed eyes, taking in the lashing that he deserved to throw her way. "It was beyond obvious to me that he was no longer on our side," Sayid took a deep breath here, his patience and the calm tornado of emotions erupting, "but you just had to try going, you had to barge in there and almost get us killed, and Jack still left. It was all for nothing."

Sayid turned away from her, allowing the machete to drop from his hand to the ground. "It wasn't all for nothing." She cringed after she said it, because Sayid wasn't in the mood for a friendly debate. This could get ugly.

This will get ugly. She saw it in the penetrating glare of Sayid's opposition as he slowly turned back to her. "We not only lost Jack, we have no idea where John is, or if he's alive and as it seems, we've been barred from ever attempting to find him, that is if he hasn't joined them as well. It's my belief that Ben still has him and will want to know why he tried to blow up his submarine. So, yes, by my estimation, we came out with absolutely nothing."

Sayid turned back, picked up his knife and cleared his throat, not addressing her specifically, more like a general declaration that he felt he should voice rather than keep to himself. "We need to go back to the beach and start from square one."

He was right, Kate thought. They had come out of the situation completely in the red. No Jack. No John. She can only imagine what the group would think, but she hoped that they believed her, that they believed Jack. First, she had to convince Sayid, so the words stumbled out of her mouth before she had time to think them through.

"Jack is leaving the Island to bring back help." It was no longer between her and Jack and she felt a pang of loss at the fact this wasn't their private secret anymore, but it was for a good cause. Kate needed an ally, she was tired of being alone, of feeling alone.

Sayid stopped, his feet dead-bolted to the dirt. He turned, his brow facing north, his lips parted. "What did you say?"

Kate perked up at his sudden interest in what she had to say. She walked a little closer to him, intent to make her point clear. "They let me see Jack after they caught us. He told me that he was getting off the Island and that he was coming back, that he would bring back rescue. I know that it—"

If Sayid never laughed in someone's face, he certainly was now. Kate stopped mid-sentence, her feelings crushed under the snort of Sayid's disbelief. He had actually cracked a smile and was laughing at her.

"What?" She said it with full-blown anger, her voice tense.

Sayid brought a hand over his mouth, rubbing achingly at the cut on his lip, his smile and laughter had agitated it. "You actually believe that Jack is coming back for us?"

Kate cocked her hip, folding her hands over her chest, brewing for a confrontation. She didn't care about Sayid's disappointment anymore. She was too busy nursing her own, surprise at Sayid's reaction melded with her offense. "Why wouldn't I?"

Sayid didn't want to sound impatient with her, but he was treading the line between blowing a torch of truth directly at her or easing into it with gentle care. He opted for a middle ground between the two. "Because he's been there, with those people, for days, and not once did he reach out to us and now I'm to believe that this is some sacrificial pursuit to rescue us?"

Kate huffed dramatically, her red cheeks blanched with her hot blood. "There's no other way, Sayid! You and I were on that first trek through the jungle to find a signal for the transceiver that Jack and I risked our lives to get, we basically led the group. What did we hear? Nothing, but Rousseau's message, that's been playing on a loop for sixteen years. I helped you triangulate the signal, but nothing came of that either. We even sent our friends out on that raft, and Sawyer almost died, and Michael betrayed us. Everything we've ever tried to do to get off this Island has been a complete and utter failure."

Sayid's face was blank, almost stoic, gravel with acknowledgement, and Kate took advantage of his pause. "Jack is trying to do what he thinks is best for all of us. He says he's coming back for us, and I believe him."

Sayid's temper was sprouting now, and would soon be in full bloom if she continued to believe that he should trust Jack any longer. "Why do you believe him? Why?" His voice was a feral growl, his teeth clinched. Was this what it was like to be on the other end of a conversation with an irrational Kate Austen? He didn't know how Jack ever got through it. "Why must you blindly trust a man who has betrayed you?"

Hurt skidded across her face, "Because he hasn't." She knew she sounded desperate, clinging to a man that so easily left, but that was just it, there was nothing easy about any of this. Jack wasn't proud or happy with leaving her behind. She saw it in his eyes; she heard it in his last words to her. If any of this were up to Jack, if he were in control of anything, they'd all be going home right this second, but instead, she was headed back to the beach where they'd have to call home for who knows how much longer.

Kate clapped her hands together and walked towards Sayid, pleading with him. "Look, I know it looks bad. Jack was living there, and it looked like he was free to do whatever he wanted, but he wasn't. They were watching him, and once they saw me in his room, they pointed a gun at him and threw me to the ground. They didn't trust him and he only trusted that they would let him off the Island," she swallowed hard, tears stinging her eyes, "because I told him to."

Curiosity sprung to Sayid's eyes, then accusation. "Why would you do that? Why would you persuade Jack to trust them?"

She sighed, and felt that familiar, scary, burdensome weight on her back all over again, her memories flooding with gore, helplessness, pain and cage bars. "Because I thought they were gonna kill Sawyer." Her voice cracked a little, the harrowing moments reaching her and holding tight. "After they abducted us, and threw the two of us in cages, they were beating him every chance they could, right in front of me and I thought they were gonna go through with it." She hugged her arms to her chest now. She looked so incredibly small at this point, broken.

Sayid looked confused, his brow scrunched. "I don't understand. How does Jack factor in?"

She took a shaky breath, anchoring the bottom of her hiking boot over a stump that lay at her feet. She practically leaned onto a nearby trunk, as if the mere recollection of the events made her legs irrelevant. "Ben had a tumor on his spine and he needed Jack to remove it, but he wouldn't, he refused to do it. So they told me that I had to convince him or Sawyer would be killed." Tears fell, but she brushed them away.

She thought of Jack, of their last moments before she ran, of the irreverent beeping that he was literally screaming over as he voiced his instructions. Her eyes squinted, glared at a distant spot over Sayid's shoulder. She was suddenly freezing, and she brushed her hands up and down her arms. More tears fell, but this time, she left them.

"But something changed, something happened that changed Jack's mind and the next time I spoke to him, he was telling me to take Sawyer and run. He wouldn't tell me where he was or what he was doing." She left out the part where she recounted the story he told her when they first met. He wouldn't have understood the significance of it, the gravity of it, why Jack needed to hear it in the first place. It was like their special code, not even Sawyer and Juliet, who stood there, watching her teary recitation with wounded eyes, truly understood what they were communicating to each other, but they knew, and that was all that mattered.

She touched the moisture at her cheek, her fingers laid over her plump lips, which were chaffed from dehydration. "The last thing he said to me was to never come back for him and then he hung up." She gasped just then, just like she had when she heard nothing but static disturbance on the other end of her walkie-talkie. "I don't know what happened. Maybe they did something to him after Sawyer and I left, but the man I spoke to last night was your friend, the same person that we crashed here with, and I'm not giving up on that." She wiped stubbornly at her tears now, as she pushed herself from the solidity of the banyan's long, talk stalk.

Sayid's head shook with denial. "I'm sorry for what you had to go through Kate, but whatever history you and I have with Jack doesn't change the fact that he was _with_ them, and that he made no attempts to evade their capture. He surrendered to them. He bargained for a ride off of the Island and I _don't_ anticipate his return." He turned his back on her, his feet moving forward, her tears ineffective.

Kate reacted almost immediately, her voice rising, fists balled tightly, relentless, uncompromising. "Sayid! You can't be serious. This is _Jack_ we're talking about. He wouldn't just forget—"

Sayid turned back to her abruptly, his voice whistling through clinched teeth. "I know exactly who we're discussing, Kate! I have the bruises on my face and the scars around my wrists to prove it." God, she wore that wounded look so well, he thought. While he was so incredibly furious with her, she was still his friend, and it was very evident that Jack's departure has destroyed her, and it wasn't letting up on her battered, dejected soul. He had never seen so many tears in her eyes, and he resented himself for not being able to put his own feelings aside and reside in the hope that she felt.

Sayid came to her, his hand came down over her shoulder, squeezing it comfortably. "I'm sorry that you believe what he's told you, but I can't. The man I thought I knew, the man I believed to be my friend would never have left us behind. I was right, Kate. The man we saw conversing happily with his captors was content with his situation and had no intentions of telling any of us of what he had planned for himself, not until he was forced to with your unplanned return."

Did he really still believe that Jack just left them there? Did her words mean nothing? She shook her head, her eyes low, reddened from her tears. "I'm telling you that Jack told me that he would come back for us and you flat-out refuse to believe me? Do you trust me at all?"

Sayid's eyes went soft, his touch softer. "I trust you Kate, but I have reserved the right to question your judgment and your objectivity when it comes to Jack." She bowed her head then, not out of shame, but out of what her allegiance to Jack has done to Sayid, what her intentions have created inside of him. "You didn't even take a second to breathe before you turned around and came back after him. Maybe you want to believe that he's coming back in order to make yourself feel better about nearly ruining his chance to leave, but I don't harbor any guilt or remorse. I don't believe that he's coming back, and neither will any man, woman and child on that beach."

She looked away from him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to stop it from quivering. She nodded erratically, distress and betrayal bleeding from her evergreen orbs. "I'm sorry Kate, but I can't run the risk of passing hope to them that I myself do not possess. Now, it's time for us to strategize, so that we can survive here without any more conflict."

She looked at him and saw just how sad he was for her. It wasn't only sadness, it was pity. She hated it when people pitied her. "You don't mind if I give it a shot then?" The defiance in her eyes shone like the brightest stars on a clear night. She was going to tell the others what Jack told her no matter what, and she silently prayed that Sayid's lack of faith in their leader wasn't contagious.

Sayid cocked his head. "By all means. I would love for them to hear what you just told me, and to see the disappointment in their eyes when they realize it isn't true. If I'm asked what I believe to be true, I will be honest." He pulled away from her and continued to trek right where he'd left off. He hated seeing the hurt in her eyes, but she was wrong about coming back for Jack, and she could be wrong about him coming back for them. He wasn't willing to take another chance on a hypothetical that was clearly based on a woman who was, at the moment, more heartbroken than sensible. "We should hurry back to the others. I'm sure they're worried sick."

She frustratingly thrust her fist into her pocket, one of her knuckles crashed into the thick glass face of the watch. Jack's watch. It dawned on her then, that he left it for her for times like these, a kind, personal reminder that he had actually said those words, _I will come back here for you_, and that she had no choice but to believe it, to believe him, against all odds. It wasn't just a remnant of his presence; it was an emblem of his promise. She kept her hand in her pocket, and wrapped her fingers around it, holding it in her small fist and letting its still weight lift her.

* * *

><p>Locke dragged his eyes open; his dilated pupils met the shaded darkness of the vacant, shadowy, cold room he'd been tossed into. An extremely dim florescent light above his head buzzed like a queen bee while a thin line of light poured in from the bottom frame of a nearby door. They must have thrown him into a holding cell of some kind, an empty room perhaps. His legs were bent at the knees, embedded into the cold concrete beneath him. His hands were above his head, handcuffed, and joined with a robust steel pipe that ran through the walls and between his cuffed wrists. He changed his mind; he must have been in a cellar of some kind, someplace underground, hence the steel pipes, and cold draft, that made him shiver and shake.<p>

He felt sore all over, achy, like he'd been hit by a car, a freight train. Then it all came back to him, the bludgeoning, brutal, blood-pooling fist fight with one of Ben's men on the dock. How long ago was that? Minutes? Hours? Days? He had no sense of time, his head was spinning, twirling. He felt like he was suspended in nothingness. Lifting his head felt like a chore, but he did so anyways, groaning through the ache at the base of his head. His neck was stiff, the muscles strained and locked in. He whirled his head to try to relax the coiled muscles, but that only made matters worse. He looked down at the inside of his arm and saw a tiny needle mark, reddened and sore. What the hell had they given him? He tried to position himself comfortably, but his legs weren't cooperating. They felt like the lifeless limbs they once were, and a big part of him was scared to death that if he were ever released from this uncompromising position, his legs wouldn't be able to carry him. It was like the Island was toying with him, like a puppet and his legs were the strings.

He heard footsteps outside of the door, the shadow of feet outlined clearly. Keys jangled, voices hushed, the doorknob squealed as it was turned. Once the door was wide open, stinging light poured into the room. Locke's eyes felt as if Supernova had been sitting at the end of his nose.

Pryce stepped into the room, eyeing Locke with a careful assessment, his hand sitting over the handle of the gun that sat in the holster of his belt. He sneered down at Locke, satisfied that the older man was stuck, cornered. Locke forced his eyes to concentrate. On the opposite wall, he noticed the silhouette of a man, sitting properly in a wheelchair. Ben. That son of a bitch, Locke thought. As soon as the angered thought popped in his mind, Ben wheeled himself into the room, with Richard close behind.

Ben cocked his head, his lips itching to break into a smile, but he refrained. He wasn't here to gloat, and it wouldn't have been hard at all if he were. "Good morning, John."

Locke's breathing became shallow, his eyes bled with his intent for vengeance, but he was too feeble, too weak to execute. If he weren't handcuffed, he could have snapped Ben's neck in half. "What did you give me?"

"Something to help you sleep." Ben said simply enough, his hands lying in his lap. "You had a pretty rough night."

Locke's voice went still, void of emotion. "Can you uncuff me, please?" His shoulders were absolutely killing him. His muscles felt like stiff bricks, lagging against his already aching bones.

Ben spoke up. "As long as you promise not to try anything. As entertaining as it would be to see you and Pryce go for round two, I don't think it would be a fair fight, considering the shape you're in. The effects of the sedative we gave you haven't worn off yet."

Locke snorted, his amusement tickled, cynically so. "It's nice to know that you care so much, Ben."

Ben's shoulders shuffled nonchalantly under the striped, starched, collared shirt he wore. "I try. Pryce, uncuff him please."

All Locke could see in his eyesight was Pryce's black, smudged combat boots squeaking against the concrete floor. "If it weren't for the fact that Ben needs you alive, I would have killed you."

"Pryce was it?" Locke asked as he looked up at him, his face still bruised from his fists, and his neck bandaged with medical gauze. "How's that cut? Does it sting like hell? I sure do hope so."

Pryce smiled rigidly, and proceeded to uncuff Locke's hands. Once the click of the lock released the cuff from one of his wrists, he balled his fist and threw it low, slugging Locke in the lower abdomen, watching as the older man bowed towards the cold concrete beneath him, his wrists wrought with blisters, groans of debilitating anguish ricocheting through the small room.

Pryce stood over his body, satisfied. He snatched at Locke's other arm and released the other cuff, stepping away to the far wall with them in his hands.

Ben shook his hand in disappointment. "Why must you insist on making things so hard for yourself, John?"

Locke rose moments later, his back leaned into the dusty green wall behind him. "Because you weren't around to do it for me." He looked down at his legs forlornly, sensation hadn't returned. He would be damned if he looked concerned or scared for himself in front of Ben, so he played it off. Ben could see that he was favoring his knees, rubbing them as if he couldn't feel them at all. He wanted to believe that it was just the unjust position the guards hung him with, but there was something else.

"How are your _legs_, John?" Ben's snarly tone lingered over the operative word like a snake skittered slowly through grass. "Do they hurt? Can you fee—?"

"They're fine!" Locke's baritone snapped, irritated, on the verge of tears. "How are yours, Ben? Did Jack do a good enough job patching you up?"

"Actually, he did. He's a very skilled, experienced surgeon. Maybe if you had told him about your, erm…_condition_ prior to the Island, he would have believed you."

Locke swayed his head against the wall, seeing straight through Ben's ploy to play it cool, to keep him on the defensive; it was too bad that wouldn't last very long. "It must really hurt your feelings."

Ben's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What's that?"

"That the Island healed _me_, but not you." The words cut through Ben with a fierce, sizzling truth. It was the truth, after all. He read Locke's medical files, down to every speck of punctuation. There was no conceivable cure for his paralysis, but he had walked ever since the crash. Jack's surgical genius probably could have saved his legs had they ever crossed paths, but they hadn't and John never told him about his pre-crash state. Ben had wondered devastatingly, lost sleep over it even. Why had John Locke been healed and he hadn't? Why had the Island failed him when he needed it the most?

Ben shifted in his chair, the first break from equanimity that Locke had seen since he wheeled himself into his presence. "Don't be so smug John, it's very unbecoming. Anything the Island gives can very easily be taken back. You would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Locke decided to ignore him, on a roll with catching Ben completely off-guard. He rather enjoyed it. "So, Tom fetches things for you, Pryce beats people up for you…what exactly does _he_ do?" He gestured towards Richard, who was still standing next to Ben, watching the interplay between the two men fester and burn. There was a lot of unresolved animosity in the air they both breathed simultaneously, and Richard couldn't help but believe that this was only the beginning.

"Why are you asking?" Ben asked.

Locke stared into the silvery depths of Ben's stormy eyes, feasting. "Because I saw him last night."

Richard's chiseled facial features swept up in surprise. "You saw me? Where?"

"You came from the jungle, you had this paper in your hand, and you were headed toward the offices". Richard looked down at Ben, who sat almost like a pagan statue, allowing Locke's acute observations to roll off of his back. "Now, what was so important that you had to get to Ben at such a late hour?"

Richard was about to speak, to lie perhaps, to come up with some convenient excuse for his rushed arrival onto the compound. He felt this unexpected, eerie obligation towards Locke, and was almost compelled to tell the truth, to ditch Ben's plan to deceive him, but before he could, Ben cleared his throat, interrupting.

"That's none of your concern, John. What you should be concerned with is your life and whether or not I'm up for taking it." His steely eyes were now shown through the scrutinizing slits of his eye-lids. He knew what John was doing. Maybe he had underestimated him after all. "Why did you really come here? Because blowing up the submarine was just your first step, wasn't it? It was something that you thought of on the trek, wasn't it? Keeping Jack on the Island was the first order of business, but what was to come after that? I'm sure I factored into your plans somehow."

"I already told you Ben, not everything is about you."

Ben leaned in. "You stole _my_ dynamite, snuck onto _my_ compound and attempted to blow up _my_ submarine. So please John, don't bother with telling me that this has nothing to do with me. My intelligence is extremely insulted as it is."

"Your dynamite?" Locked asked.

Ben sat back then, getting reacquainted with being the one in control of the conversation. "I recognized the packaging almost immediately. You stole it from the Flame station, that's located about two miles before you reached the sonar pylons. I'm guessing you ransacked the place and it was Kate's brilliant idea to take Mikhail with you, because she thought that I would trade Jack for him, but you had other plans, of course." He bore that inspective glare again. "Tell me John, did you kill him?"

Locke breathed deeply. "If it makes you feel any better, he tried to kill me first."

Ben's head shook with regret. "I wish you hadn't done that, John. Mikhail was an important, irreplaceable asset to my team."

"Boohoo, Ben." Locke felt his temper rising again. "Let me shed a tear for one life lost on your end, when you unnecessarily caused the deaths of two people in our camp. So, please, don't be surprised that I'm less than sympathetic to you and Mikhail. He got exactly what he deserved."

"Oh." Ben's eyes went bright with a smile, his lips lifted, his teeth visible. "So that's what this was all about huh, John? Revenge." This was Ben's time to conquer. "And now your blood is boiling even more, because Jack defied you and left, even against your boisterous pleas that it was all wrong. You should know him a little better than I do, John. He's not the kind of man who likes being told what to do."

"You want to know what I do know? I know that you knew about each and every one of us before we knew each other, and you knew all about that hatch, even using it to spy on us from some location that not even your precious people know about." Locke rubbed at the back of his head. "I recognized the equipment in Mikhail's station, so there had to be a way for you to communicate with him and with Desmond, the man in the Swan hatch before we inhabited it, but you didn't."

Richard looked unnerved, rattled at how much information Locke had deduced, by simply observing and listening. He was worried now, deathly worried. Ben seemed blank, no action or reaction to the scenario that Locke was proposing, because it was right on the money.

"Then, you discovered you had cancer, a spinal tumor in fact, and would you look at that!" John smiled then, his hands raised on each side of him. "There's a spinal surgeon in the other camp, one of the crash survivors. So, why not dig deeper and pretend to be a lost tourist in the jungle, so that you can infiltrate our camp, to get any info you could." Locke took a breath, basking in how shell shocked Richard seemed. Ben had too much to lose to show any kind of valid retort.

"You had Michael all that time, and in order for him to get his son back, the child _you_ took, he had to rescue you from the hatch and bring Jack to your camp. So, he led Jack, Kate and the others into a trap, and in your own special warped way, you got him to do exactly what you wanted, but not for nothing." This was the clincher that Locke had waited for, ever since that verbal throwdown with Jack on the dock. "In return, he wanted a way off the Island and you, Mr. Helpful himself, provided it."

"I hope Jack realizes that while dealing with the Devil, getting burned is unavoidable." Locke said, his tone acidic and hateful.

Ben scoffed at the accusation, and giggled at the satanic reference. "Are you suggesting that I wanted harm to come to Jack?"

"I'm suggesting that you have something to gain from getting rid of him." Locke was certain of this, he just didn't know how he could prove it. He knew that Ben had probably granted Jack's last wish and released Kate and Sayid, to stay on good terms with the doctor, and he was also sure that they knew of his plan to blow the submarine, and that he wasn't there to save Jack after all. This wouldn't bode well if he ever got out of here.

Ben's face cracked with a deprecating smile. "Your imagination has had quite the workout, John. First, you and Jack were brought here for a reason and now I'm the one trying to impede your discovery of that very explanation." He was once again, disappointed. "You weren't only here to stop Jack, you came to make a statement, to _me_."

Ben wheeled himself to where Locke sat, still on the ground, his back against the wall. "This is what you _really_ wanted John. This, right here, you and me, face to face. You wanted my attention; you wanted me to know without a shadow of a doubt that I had failed at trying to break you." Ben was teary-eyed now, emotional, playing right into John's sensibilities, his hopes. "I heard it loud and clear, John, and I'm here to help you find the answers you seek."

"Help me?" Locke couldn't help but let out a small giggle, until he was laughing gladly at Ben's performance. "Like you were helping me press that button by lying to me about ever pressing it to begin with? Playing with my head just because you could! Because you wanted what you wanted and damn anyone who gets in your way?" He was showing his long-buried despair with bright enthusiasm. "What makes you think I trust you after that?"

"Nothing makes me think that, John. You have every reason to doubt me, but I'm asking you to trust what I'm telling you _now_, in _this_ moment." Ben never broke his gaze, never backed away, he only dug, deeper. "You don't need Jack to accomplish what you need to accomplish. Whatever part you think he plays, he doesn't. If you had succeeded in stopping him, it wouldn't have gotten you any closer to the answers you're looking for."

Locke shrugged, his hands coming up in the air and falling back to the ground with helpless abandonment."You tell me then Ben, why am I here? Why did the Island bring me here?"

Hook, line and sinker, Ben thought. The question to end all other questions, and he'd finally gotten Locke to ask him. "Because you're special, John." He could see Locke fighting the bout of satisfaction that fumed in his heart, but it still showed. "You have a communion, a relationship with this Island that I have never seen from an outsider."

"Is that right?" Locke asked.

Ben nodded emphatically, hopeful, almost gleeful. "Yes. I don't have all of the answers, but I have the pertinent ones, the ones about why you belong here and what you can do, what you're truly capable of." Ben wheeled himself back, watching as Locke looked on, interested. "But you have to do something first."

"And what is that?"

"Join us, John." There it was, the offer that Locke had long since considered, but he couldn't help but sense something about it that wasn't right. "With Jack gone, the group on the beach will pose nothing but a burden that you don't want to bear, they'll only hold you back from your full potential. If you join me, you'll be free to discover the Island and everything it has to offer, and I can be right there with you, leading the way."

Locked looked resolute, decided. "Thank you for the offer Ben, but I think I'm better off on my own."

The hopeful glint fell from Ben's eyes like a shower of untrained sparks. He was completely sure, confident that his plan would work, but it hadn't. He couldn't kill him, there were so many extenuating reasons why Ben wanted to, but alas, he couldn't. "Well," he cleared his throat, the panic that suddenly rose startled him, "I was hoping that you would make the right decision, John, but I have no choice but to let you go." His smile was so fake, it was flaking in mid-air. Richard and Pryce were equally shocked that Ben was actually letting him walk. What had just happened here?

Ben, Locke and Richard were planted on the green grass of the courtyard now, at the breach of its borders. Community members were looking on, watching, and Ben allowed them to see him peacefully let Locke go. He had to maintain trust with his people. He knew what was going on, he was aware of the rumors about what had happened on the dock, that a man was almost murdered. He couldn't be seen as a murderer, not to the innocent people who had no idea what was really going on here.

"Destiny is a fickle bitch, John. Don't make me regret turning you loose." Ben extended his hand, his eyes squinting against the high afternoon sun. "Good luck."

Locke cracked a smile as he pulled his backpack over his shoulder. He reached for Ben's hand, shaking it firmly. "I'm sure we'll meet again, Benjamin." He let his hand go, still meeting his eyes. "Hopefully you're prepared when we do." Locke winked, pleasantly satisfied by the momentary slip of Ben's smirk. He made it to the end of the compound, disappearing behind one of the Dharma houses, and then hiked up an inclined patch of grass; the jungle greeted him like an old friend, kind and inviting.

Richard gripped the handles of Ben's wheelchair, watching as Locke hiked into the jungle. "That didn't go at all how you planned, did it?"

"No, unfortunately, it did not." Ben was already churning out the details of Plan B, silently plotting the dots in his mind. He wasn't sure if it would work, but he had to try. "John Locke is gonna be a bigger problem than I originally anticipated."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Phew! Don't worry! Not every chapter will be a book. I just have a lot to set up, character dynamics, motivations and such, that will carry on throughout the story. Also, JATE is coming. There is a very slow build to a very promising conclusion. Trust me. Please, please stay tuned. <strong>_

_**If I haven't said this already, I will now. Thanks so much for reading. ;) **_


	5. Await Further Instruction

_**So sorry for the delay! Work has been a killer lately! Enjoy! **_

* * *

><p>Sunset arrived faster than expected, darkening the nefarious maze of the jungle, and forcing Kate and Sayid to stop and make camp. They both silently built the fire, scrounging up firewood and brush from surrounding areas, and lighting a small match, until the flames roared in front of them. There was a strange serenity between them now; they weren't fighting each other's natures anymore. Kate was free to believe in Jack's plan, and Sayid was free to doubt it, outright deny it. Tensions were extinguished from the second they walked on, leaving their difference of opinion behind them. But, they both knew that when it came to the forty individuals on the beach, nothing would be easy to explain, to believe, to conclude.<p>

Sayid politely excused himself, pulling the handle of the lit torch that sat in the core of the campfire off of the ground, holding it high and following a worn path into the depths of the jungle. Kate, who sat in front of the fire, her elbow sat on the hill of her bent knee, her fist balled at her cheek, holding her head upright, the flames licking at the green specks of her sad, lifeless eyes, hadn't even looked up to see where he had gone. She couldn't possibly be angry with him, anymore anyways. She quickly began to understand that many of the people that Jack considered to be his friends really didn't know anything about him.

To be honest, how much did any of them know about each other? They'd spent close to three months on this Island, simply trying to survive, trying to coexist, co-habitat in a place they hadn't expected to be for very long. Obviously, being brought together through such a tragedy would bind them, they were definitely growing closer, a family of sorts, but there was still a lot she didn't know about her fellow survivors, especially why they were the plane. Everyone had a reason for being in Sydney, but no one was really open about it, as if their journey brought shame and embarrassment, but she knew that she had them all beat in that category. Jack inadvertently stumbled upon why she was so far away from home, and even after he found out about it, he opened up to her about his father's death, which made her feel terrible for making this good, decent, brave man break his back to get something, anything _real_ out of her. Why was she always so good at pushing people away?

She combed at the tiny bundle of curls at her nape at that thought, her hair rained down her back and over her shoulders and upper arms, a sort of barrier against the cold gust of wind. The crackling fire's warmth embraced her just then, but still she felt detached from her surroundings, suspended in some kind of dream-state that wasn't real at all. She picked up a fallen branch, a piece of firewood that they hadn't thought to use, and poked at the fire, tiny reddish-orange sparks lifted from the conflagration, sizzled and burned away in a matter of seconds.

There was a great sense of dread that built up inside of her when her thoughts suddenly turned to Sawyer. What was she supposed to do when she saw him again? Give him a hug? A kiss? A hug _and_ a kiss? Neither? Everything had become so complicated between the two of them; she thought as her fingertips bent into the migraine that was catching hold to her temples. She missed him, but there wasn't anything really crucial, dangerous or breathtakingly rushed about the emotion, she just missed being his friend, the comfortable way they picked on each other, like old pals who knew how to press each other's buttons. He was surely burned by her abrupt exit from the beach, especially since they weren't on good terms at all when she left.

Deep down, she knew that Sawyer was a good person; she saw his care and concern for Jack when they saw him being transported past the cages, his eyes wide and frantic; he was just too easily prone, permanently wired with satisfying himself over others. She really expected nothing more or less, which was why it never hurt to walk away from him, she never felt empty when she was away from him. Where Jack was concerned, her assurance that some distance between them would make her feelings go away never stood a chance, the fascination only worked against her, and she was back in the caves where she never wanted to be, returning to the beach from the hatch, plotting her next move in the jungle, beating whatever path that would lead her back to him with hungry, greedy fists, until her knuckles bled.

His 'Every man for himself' mantra was nauseating for her, downright disrespectful when Jack had done everything he could to save them both. She soon realized that it was really who Sawyer was, and judging from what she learned about his childhood, what he was looking for, and what he was running from, it was a way of life that he felt worked best for him. It wasn't the best for her and she could never delegate that into her reasoning. It wasn't who she was.

Was he expecting her to just lie back in a hammock with a nice paperback while Jack was all alone with people who could easily hurt, _kill_ any of them without so much as a blink of an eye when the job was done? There was no conceivable way she could ever live with herself if she ever did that, and it wasn't just the bark of her conscience leading her to Jack, it was the drum of her heart, the slow lull of her soul. She soon realized that drum, that lull had existed inside of her very soon after she met Jack's eyes for the first time and long before she knew his name. She was in love with him, drastically, devastatingly, dangerously in love, and she was so inept with it that it made her hate herself for not getting it right sooner, because she didn't want to hurt Sawyer. That was the last thing she wanted to do, but there was no way around it. She didn't want him to feel what she felt right this second, an ache that no one but the one she loved could soothe. She couldn't be that for him, because she knew that he wasn't that for her. She finally figured it out. The heart wants what it wants.

Would she ever know what the rush of adrenaline at Jack's presence, the sound of his voice, whether it was frustrated with anger, wrought with need or ripe with amusement, felt like again, the way it was before the wall she felt around him in the game room ever existed? Was it already given away to another?

Kate's thoughts rammed into 'the blonde woman', better known as Juliet. She knew close to nothing about this woman. All she really knew was that she had long, blonde hair that shimmered like stars, that flowed like golden lace. Her eyes were a radiant, cascading azure shade, sharp and sure. She was slender, tall, statuesque, and could literally, and figuratively, meet Jack eye to eye. To put it bluntly, she was beautiful, the make and model of a woman that Jack should be dating, married to even, and successfully building a life with. A doctor no less, a brilliant one, which only made the measureless differences between their worlds-apart backgrounds all the more glaring and inappropriate.

Kate knew that Juliet worked closely with Ben, that she brought her to where Jack was, the glass house as Tom called it, and that she probably took him away too. She wondered why she'd done it, why she killed one of her own, Pickett, to save them. Had she done it to defy Ben? Had she had her own personal agenda in play that somehow factored into helping them escape? Was she doing it because Jack asked her to? Because she loved him? Kate's throat and chest tightened. She thought of the last time she saw Juliet; she was approaching Jack, a smile on her face, teasing, flirtatious. She was whispering something into his ear, and he pulled back with a charming, cocked smile of his own. There was such an ease to how they moved together, there was none of the friction that she and Jack always tried their best to absolve, there was no tension hindering their progress. The sky was the limit for the two of them. While Kate always felt the combustible physical and exhausting emotional chemistry with Jack that defied logic, reason and gravity itself, distance would only make it harder to hold onto, but she would try her best. It was the only way to make the long days and the longer nights tolerable until he returned.

Ben's commentary made everything worse. The insistence that Jack and Juliet had grown close, from a hateful, conniving, third party's observation, was crushing, unbearable for her, because she saw it with her own two eyes. It was real. A tear fell from her eye that she hadn't known was there until she felt it slide against the warmth of her cheek. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed sadness, fixated on the fire, because if she blinked, the liquid, physical emblems of her pain would show again. What was she thinking? She was going along as if Jack's promise to come back for her was a promise to _be_ with her, and the devastating reality was that it wasn't what he meant at all. His promise was definitely an extension of his obligation to her, a member of a group that he promised long ago to protect. What if he came back hand-in-hand with Juliet? What if they had established themselves as a couple by the time he found the Island again? What if their many similarities bound them in a way that meant a life with no one but each other? A life where Jack was fulfilled by another was a life worse than death. The tears came, hot and steady, down her face, and rest lay out of her reach, but she would try to find it.

She gathered her backpack and laid her head against it. Her small body was balled up in the fetal position in the middle of the grassy meadow, her thighs brushed against her stomach; her knees were tucked against her chin and her tears slid over the bridge of her petite nose, pooling into the backpack's threaded material. She felt like a roller coaster that had ran off its set course, crashing into the walls on either side of it, completely out of control. Her emotions were in two places at once, ripping her apart. The larger part of her believed that Jack's promise was of his volition to vow, that he was doing it because he saw a future for them all that didn't involve being stranded on this Island and she would hold steadfastly to it. Her head throbbed, her heart pumped with cracks, leaks were stronger now with the quiet, doubtful drip that had become louder, deafening.

She closed her eyes, sleep came thunderously.

* * *

><p>Jack turned to his side in the tiny bunk, the broad line of his shoulders reached towards the bottom of the bunk above him, the wire mesh scraped at the fabric of his shirt's short sleeve. After talking to Juliet, he laid down on his back and allowed the subtle propel of the submarine to lull him to sleep. He was wide awake now, still very tired but too anxious, excited to stay asleep any longer. He turned to Juliet's bunk, only to find it empty, the thin blanket covering the mattress neatly. As soon as the question of where she was rose to his mind, she came through the curtain that separated the bunks from the general area, her smile bright, and her hair tied into a tight ponytail.<p>

He heard the hustle and bustle behind the curtain that Juliet closed behind her. Suddenly, a red light lit up the ceiling above them. "What's going on?"

She sat down beside him. "We're back. We're home." She said it with such a joy, Jack couldn't help but smile. He rubbed at his eyes, making sure it wasn't a dream, that he was actually awake. Juliet reached over to grab her bag from under her bunk.

"Where are we?" That was the next obvious question.

Juliet shrugged. "I'm not sure. From what Ben confided in me long ago, there are a few shipping ports along the two U.S. coasts that the Dharma Initiative used to ship things back and forth to the Island. It was easier to travel underwater, still is. We could be anywhere."

The Dharma Initiative? Why did that sound so damn familiar? He thought. His eyes lit up with recognition. The hatch. Desmond was wearing a pair of khaki coveralls, with an octagonal-shaped symbol embroidered on the top-left corner, above his name. He remembered the orientation video that he begrudgingly sat through with Locke, who sat completely intrigued, eyes bugged and glued to the projector. So as not to get roped into Locke's fascination, Jack never asked any questions about this Initiative, and why they were on the Island to begin with. His mind traced the memory of the payload full of food that dropped from the sky one cool night, the labels uniform with black and white, and the same octagonal symbol that Desmond wore like a badge of honor. Who were these people? What was the Initiative? What was their interest in the Island?

Before Jack could interrogate Juliet with his ever-growing list of questions, a man came through the curtain. "Good, you're awake." The younger man said, looking towards Jack with a pleased smile.

Brian. Jack remembered him from his time living among the Others. He met him once, he and his wife knocked on his door one day, thanking him graciously for saving Ben's life, showering him with praise and gratitude. They brought him a delectable green-bean casserole that he ate every spoonful of. He usually kept to himself, but he couldn't avoid his many neighbors; they were relentless with getting to know the surgeon that cured their revered leader. Jack wondered what Ben told these people, or better yet, what convenient lie he provided. They wouldn't have been too welcoming to him if they knew that killing Ben was what he really wanted to do.

"What's up Brian?" Juliet asked, pivoting her head to take in his expression. "Is this trip coming to a close yet or what?"

"Yes, it is. We've made it to our destination right on time. Jeff is docking the sub as we speak. You know how he is, doesn't like anyone stepping on his toes." Juliet shook her head, short, curt laughter filling the air. Brian joined in with her, and Jack felt like there was a joke he hadn't been let in on or just didn't understand, but that was beside the point.

"You don't mind me asking, where _is _our destination exactly?" He asked.

"California, a small shipping county on the southwest border, about two hundred miles outside of Los Angeles. There's a private port here that Mr. Linus has used on many occasions. The staff has been awaiting our arrival." Brian revealed.

A private port? Jack soon thought about the fact that he was popping back into a world that probably thought he died in that crash. His excitement was now riddled with doubt. How would he explain this to his family, or what family he had left? He hadn't thought about a proper lie at all, not even one that could pass for the truth. "Wait. I was on a plane that crashed. I'm supposed to be dead, I probably _am_ dead to the people I left behind."

Was he supposed to tell them about the Island? Did he even want to? Who would sit through the recount of the horrific two months he spent on that hellhole? How would he argue going back to the Island? Should he keep _that _a secret too?

"That's what I came to talk to you about, Jack." Brian's face turned grave, serious. "I have extremely strict instructions from Mr. Linus that you're not to speak to anyone about the Island. In fact, as far as anyone else is concerned, there _was_ _no_ Island." Jack looked over at Juliet, who was already staring at him. She could read the dilemma in his eyes.

"Oh, you're actually _surprised_ that Ben's first line of defense is to lie." There was a chuckle in Juliet's tone that made him smile. They were talking about Benjamin Linus, master manipulator. He had to steadily remind himself that the reason why he was getting off of the Island was because he provided Ben with a much-needed surgery, a surgery that he knew he had been manipulated into performing.

Jack turned back to Brian, who watched the exchange with a small grin. "What about the media? Surely they'll have questions about the plane crash and the rest of the survivors."

"Mr. Linus has taken care of that. He has made it a priority to make this transition very easy for you, Jack, but the Island has to stay a secret, which is why Mr. Linus has gone to such lengths with ensuring that your arrival back into civilization isn't bogged down by scrutiny and suspicion. It's just a necessary precaution." Brian reassured, but judging from the look on Jack's face, he wasn't assured of anything.

"If Ben made sure that the media wouldn't pursue me, then he must have come up with a story that I could use just in case they ever do."

Brian shook his head. "He doesn't anticipate that anyone _would_ ask, but he knew that you wouldn't trust that, so yes, he came up with a cover story that he wanted me to go over with you right before you departed the sub."

Jack leaned over, his forearms resting over his thighs. "Lets hear it."

Brian cleared his throat. "Your plane crashed in the South Pacific, somewhere near Papua New Guinea. You washed up on the shore shortly after the crash, and since there was no one else around, you believed that you were the only survivor, and there was no sign of the crash. The plane sunk to the bottom of the Pacific." Brian could tell that Jack was adamantly following, so as not to miss a single detail. "On the beach, you discovered that two of your fellow passengers survived the crash as well, but they suffered from life-threatening injuries. You tried to save them, but they died."

Jack brought his hand to the back of his head, rubbing it anxiously. He didn't want to lie; he didn't want to _live_ a lie. "You lived quietly in the jungle for two months, until a rescue team found you…and here we are."

It sounded so simple, so easy, too easy. He wasn't the only survivor and he wasn't going to act as if he was, but he couldn't reveal his plan to go back for them. If he had to lie for the time being, then he would. He would lie about the Island and the crash to anyone who asked, but he wouldn't go back on his promise to return for them. This would probably open the Island up to people that Ben wouldn't approve of, but that wasn't Jack's problem. His only concern was his friends and their safety, everything else landed on someone else's shoulders.

Brian saw how uncomfortable Jack was with it, but he tried to smooth things over with another friendly smile. "That's simply a back-up story if anyone asks you for details. Are you ready?"

Jack nodded. He knew that lying about the Island was the best way to protect his friends, at least until he came back for them. That was the only thought, purpose that would get him through this. "Yeah. I'm ready." He said, brimming with a steadfast determination. It was now or never.

Juliet took Jack's hand into hers, giving it a light, comforting squeeze. This had to be hard for him, she thought, harder than it was to actually walk away from John on that dock. She saw how hard he tried to hide it, how much he didn't want to care about Locke, about any of them, but he did, and it was one of the reasons why she liked him so much, he was loyal and kind. She felt a little bad for Jack, for how he still wasn't entirely free of the Island, because he would have to work at pretending that it didn't exist.

"Good." Brian said, a relieved breath left his lungs, trailing off of an affable laugh. "We should get you up on the pier. We have a shuttle van waiting for you, to take you to Los Angeles." Brian stood and placed his clipboard underneath his left arm, "Follow me."

Jack and Juliet followed him down the narrow hallway and stopped behind him as he reached a ladder that stretched up towards the exit door of the submarine. Juliet suddenly became teary-eyed, because no matter how much she wanted to go home, she had become very close to the people she lived amongst and worked with for the past three years. She might have hated Benjamin Linus with every fiber of her being, but she could never regret the connections she made to the people who knew little to nothing about the man they vowed their allegiance to. She wiped at her eyes, laughing at her unexpected showing of emotion. Brian smiled through his own tears and swept her up in a hug.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Juliet." They broke from the hug with happy, joyful smiles on their faces. He extended his hand to Jack, who stood by watching their goodbye. "Good luck, Jack."

Jack took his hand, shook it swiftly. "Thanks."

Once Jack and Juliet exited the submarine, they were greeted with the darkness of the night. The pier led to a small building, a dock station of sorts. Jack and Juliet were directed to a shuttle van that would drive them into the heart of Los Angeles. Home. The four-hour drive into Los Angeles was quiet, serene and full of nerve-wracking anticipation on Jack's part. He felt the closeness between him and Juliet escalate during the drive as she laid her head on his shoulder, and drifted off to sleep for a nap. At least one of them could sleep. He found that he couldn't close his eyes, not for a second. He was too excited, too wired, too anxious to breathe properly, the same feelings he felt while on the submarine were maximized. Once they were in the outskirts of the city, Jack gave the driver explicit directions to the condominium complex where he lived.

"Are you sure your apartment is still there?" Juliet asked.

"If I know my mother like I know my mother, she didn't give up on me." He smiled sadly, the idea that his mother had to endure his father death and his disappearance in such a short time made him sick to his stomach, but she was just as stubborn as he was, and wouldn't be so easily swayed to believe that her only son, her only child, was dead too. "It's still there."

Surely enough, when the driver stopped the shuttle bus in the parking area of the condominium, Jack spotted his rusted Bronco in the same spot he left it in before he called a cab to take him to LAX, the very same day he decided to chase after his father, to mend what he had broken, what it took the both of them to destroy. He smiled gleefully at the sight of the weather-beaten truck that his mother hated, that he insisted on driving ever since he bought it his second year of medical school. Jack's eyes rose to the windows of the building, reaching the top, where his apartment lay still, quite, for the past two months. He blindly hopped out of the van, mesmerized, entranced by his familiar yet foreign surroundings. It was as if he was truly seeing the place for the first time, which probably wasn't far from the truth. He was always so busy, to and from the hospital, that if asked what shade his residence had been painted, he wouldn't have a clue.

Juliet came up close behind him, worried. He stood there for a second, stiff and unresponsive. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He stood under the glow of a nearby street light that lit the dark parking area. He nodded without turning to her; the tears in his eyes remained unshed. "Yeah." He lied.

She knew he was lying, and looked up at the complex. "Do you want me to go up with you?"

He turned to her, grateful, his eyes kind and gentle. "No. I'll be fine." It was just so surreal; he needed a moment to let it sink in. He wrapped Juliet up in his arms, giving her a tight hug. She hugged him back fiercely, her hands rubbing comfortably at his shoulders and neck. She had been his rock through it all, his confidante, a friendly reminder that he wasn't alone. She pulled from the hug, her eyes swimming with tears.

"You're not gonna make me cry too, are you?" She joked.

He smiled. "I just might."

"You call me if you need anything, okay?" Jack nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, but Juliet interrupted him, "And please call your mother. Let her know that you're home, that you're alive. Don't let her hear about it from someone else."

He grinned at her, his best effort. "I won't. I promise."She returned his smile and turned, climbing back into the back of the shuttle van. "Juliet?"

Her eyes met his one last time. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything." He could see the emotion in her eyes, swimming and daring to overflow. She simply smiled, her mouth growing wider until both rows of her perfect teeth shone in the night.

Before she closed the sliding door shut, she waved at him. He waved back, watching as the van careened onto the adjoining street and disappeared into the night. He finally reached his front door and moved for his secret hiding place. He was astounded that the silver key was still there. He turned the knob of the unlocked door and entered. He flipped the light switch and was greeted with a cold, tidy apartment, dark and dank with the aura of a home that hadn't been lived in for a long time. Things were in their proper place and he immediately knew that his mother had been there, tying up the loose ends of his former existence. She was the only other person that had a key. Her stamp was everywhere, from the neat stack of medical journals on his coffee table to the spotless kitchen that he walked into. Nothing was out of place. He looked at the counter-top and remembered a tall glass of orange juice, spiked with vodka for the rush. It had worn off before the flight to Australia had left the ground. He should have just nixed the orange juice, Jack thought with a wry grin.

He placed his hands palms-down onto the kitchen counter, staring off into the space. This was home, _his_ home. This corner of one of the biggest cities in the world belonged to him, and he felt so...misplaced. He remembered half-listening, only half-interested in the realtor's enthusiastic presentation of the modern shelving, the Jacuzzi-style bathtub, the extra office space if he ever decided to bring his work home, which was often, and the spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles that opened the small dining room area. His only interest in the place was its size, perfect for a bachelor who didn't need much space and wouldn't know what to do with too much room, and most importantly, its close proximity to the hospital.

He rounded the corner to the dining area. His hand bumped into something that sat on a nearby end-table, both items fell to the ground with the twin thud of bricks. Not until Jack reached down to pick them up did he realize that they were a pair of shoes, loafers to be exact, worn black leather with cracks at the bend, its antiquity on display. What the hell were they doing in the dining room? Jack thought with confusion. The memory took hold of him, suffocating him.

Christian's shoes.

The shoes that he was supposed to be wearing when he and his mother buried him after a quaint and respectable service, a service that he'd been too preoccupied with getting over with that he completely forgot to pack them. He straightened from the floor, one shoe in each hand, his eyes roaming from one to the other, callous under his fingertips. He stared at them as if they were his father himself, a huge lump in his throat, tears burning his eyes. He held the responsibility of choosing what Christian would wear, a duty that Margo was too destroyed to perform. He chose them because of a memory he held dear from his childhood. Christian once told his four-year-old son that the shoes were his absolute favorite; memories of watching him pull them onto his feet and climb into a starched white coat before he left for the hospital filled his mind. How had things gotten so turned around? How did he go from adoring his father with the naïve, bright, impressionable eyes of a child who wanted to be _just _like him to a man who couldn't imagine making the decisions his father had?

He hadn't had the proper time to grieve. The shock of it still rattled him, made him question such black and white, clear-cut virtues as truth, honesty and bravery. Did he want relentless justice for the patient, or did he want to bank on the long-overdue opportunity to vilify his own father? Was he brave when he revealed the truth, or was he being vindictive and only hiding behind the guise of courage and integrity for his own protection? He still wasn't quite sure of the answer to these questions. There was only anger at not getting to him fast enough, at not pulling him out of some watering hole in Sydney's metropolis. It was the grief that haunted him to this day, an empty coffin, tangled up with debris from the plane crash lit a fire under his control and left it to burn.

The first person he told after his mother when he found out that his father died was Kate. She was so sweet, gentle, comforting. Her '_I'm sorry_' meant more to him than all of the bare condolences that his father's ill-fated service would have evoked from people that Jack barely knew, from people who barely knew him. But Kate, this woman who snuck up on him when he needed someone the most, felt more familiar to him than anything he'd ever known, more familiar than the walls that surrounded him. He walked towards his bedroom, silently cursing himself for letting his thoughts roam to Kate. He was supposed to spend this time getting over her, forgetting about those feelings, the emotional connection, the comfort of it, the way he always leaned on it, because it was always there. Now it wasn't. He would have to get used to that.

He opened the door to his bedroom and immediately went for the closet, opening the double doors and flicking a switch, illuminating the small space with light. He bent down, placing his father's shoes in a corner, letting them mingle with his own footwear. He straightened and took in the long line of dress shirts, some solid colors of light blue and maroon, others striped. His ties hung from a rack that was tacked to the inside of the door and the broad shoulder-pads of his jackets and their matching trousers stretched a mile, if not longer. He went to a drawer in the corner and pulled out a white t-shirt and boxers before he moved towards another door that led to the bathroom.

He reached for the shower knob in the transparent shower stall, turning it and allowing the steam from the hot water to mask him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink and moved in to get a better view. He looked the same, thick, angled brows that shaded his dark, chocolate eyes, cropped brown hair with specks of grey at his temples and sideburns, stubble peppered over his jaws, cheeks and chin, but there was something about his eyes, he noticed. They weren't bright with the excitement that he should have felt about being home, about finally being off that Island. They were hardened, haunted, tortured with a bruised heart that would never love the same.

Visions of Kate with Sawyer flooded his mind's eyes and he immediately closed his eyes tightly, as if the heart-wrenching memory would fade on impact, would erase from his consciousness and walk over the line into dream territory, the fictional realm, but it hadn't. It was real. He hung his head low, breathing diligently, forcibly through the tight nostrils of his nose. He still saw them, in the cages, wrapped up in one another as if that were exactly where they wanted to be, and had always needed to be. Why couldn't he see her the way she was before? The steadfast, persistent, stubborn beauty that confused him just as much as she was there for him, always ready to prove herself, to fight the odds. He caught glimpses of her when she was on bended knees in front of him, begging him to stay, but even then he saw her the way she had before he told her to run, comforted by the arms, the closeness of another.

It was where she was supposed to be, he realized in the twenty-third hour. He finally saw that Sawyer was a competitor that was too much like her to be averse to her bad choices, to misunderstand and make things harder for her. They suited each other. Things were easier there, no heavy-lifting, no raising of voices, no walking away with flared tempers that would never settle, no need for drawn-out explanations and no disappointments. They were walking the same line in life, but, unfortunately, it didn't stop him from wanting her so badly he still tasted her on his lips and frequently licked at them just to feel closer to her. He needed her to be happy, that was the end result. If he wasn't happy, which he would never truly be without her, then the profit of his deficit was that she would go on, happily.

He thought about how he would find Kate and Sawyer when he came back. Would they have announced to the group that they were together? Would they be staying together in the same tent? Would he arrive to Kate's belly rounded with Sawyer's child? His face turned hot, scolding with his anger; an agonizingly raw grunt funneled through his lips as he leaned into the counter, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter-top so tightly his knuckles were bare of color. He felt like he'd been stabbed, and the knife's blade was still lodged in the crevices of his heartbeat. If it was removed, he would bleed until the rhythm faded into nothingness, but it hurt so badly that he almost willed it out of him, so he could finally rest without the pain. The tightness of his eyelids didn't allow the well of his tears to flow. What had he done? Where had he gone wrong?

The one moment they had together before he decided to do the surgery hadn't gone how he planned at all. He was so happy to see her, delirious with the way his eyes drunk her in, an ethereal epiphany of understated exquisiteness. She was glowing, so brightly he felt the urge to close his eyes, but he couldn't. She was so beautiful, even in her rumpled, tattered state. His thoughts drove into their relationship before they were captured, the never-ending push and pull of two people who felt the insistent grab, who fought its strength, because it was safer to be alone than to give over the power to destroy who they were to a person they barely knew. The attraction had run amok inside of him the moment he saw her, and never slowed down like it should have when he saw that pretty face painted from the grainy ink of a mugshot, a revelation that shook him, but hadn't snapped the tether that his heart formed with hers when he wasn't looking. The tether's strength surged over his ability to walk away clean, because he had to come back for her whether she waited for him or not, an involuntary promise that he couldn't take back.

Why had it always been so hard for the two of them? He suddenly asked himself. The answer was clear.

He couldn't budge and she couldn't stop.

It was as simple as that. Their chronically calamitous pattern that was addictive, intoxicating, in a nutshell. He had to get clean, and he hoped that she would too. Time and distance was their only salvation.

He opened his eyes and felt the hot tears slide down his cheeks. He looked up into the mirror and was greeted with a cloud of steam that lay over his now distorted reflection, evaporating into drips of water that fell from its bottom edge. He hadn't realized that he was grieving a relationship that had a snowball's chance in hell of happening while his bathroom filled with a blinding fog from the scolding hot water that flowed from his showerhead. Suddenly, he was so tired he could barely stand, but he had to wash the last two months from his skin, the last remnant of Kate's scent still clung to him. He had to wash her away and tuck away any hope that there was _still_ hope for them.

He allowed the warm water to course down the curve of his back, between his bulging shoulder-blades as he leaned his head under the heavy stream. His large hands sat on the slick glass of the shower stall, his handprints permanent where they landed. He covered himself with the silky foam of his body-wash from head to toe, then leaned into the stream, watching the foam dissolve into a whirl down the drain.

He dried himself with a long terry-cloth bath towel and dressed into his pajamas. His plush, king-size bed felt so weird to him now, after days upon days of settling onto a hard plethora of sand every night. Even though his body craved rest in the worst way, his brain was still wide awake, thinking, plotting, planning. If he spent every waking moment trying to find a way back to the Island, he could get there in no time. It wasn't just an overworked thought tree that kept him awake. His heart was throbbing, and as he positioned himself onto his side, its merciless rumblings forced sleep to fight for dominance.

* * *

><p>Ben's home office was where he decided to work from now on. Wheeling himself over to the main headquarters was starting to become laborious, tedious even, especially when he felt more at peace while surrounded by his things. His books, his collection of classical music. He desperately needed the comfort, especially after watching John Locke walk off of his compound, instead of being done away with for good.<p>

He couldn't believe his plan hadn't worked. John was anything but predictable, he thought to himself. What had convinced Locke not to follow him? He had promised him everything he'd ever wanted to know, so what made him decline the offer of his lifetime? The old man was getting smarter, Ben thought. He had ruffled Kate to the perfect drum, twisting her feelings for Jack into a knot that choked her and made her temper boil until the blush of her cheeks ran hot. She was easy to rile up, she had lost all that mattered. She was emotional, a sea of irrationality, but there was something about John that hadn't played like a fiddle in Ben's hands. There was something about his refusal to cooperate, his confidence, his poise, his swift rejection, and not to mention, the bonafide flip-off as he prepared to walk away, that rattled him. He had nothing to lose, and that was more dangerous than a stray bullet. A rouge, renegade in every way was now John Locke's role, as it had always been, but more lethal than ever.

He stared at the little sheet of paper that Richard brought to him the night of the invasion, picking it up from the center of his desk. The very last list of instructions that Jacob needed him to perform. He had always done any and everything he asked, and had never once seen his face or even a corner of his existence. How was that fair?

He recalled asking Richard once, years ago, if he could talk to Jacob, have a meeting of minds per se, about the Island, about his plans for him, because there had to be more than lists, instructions, obscurity. He hoped for a yes, an invitation, only to receive a strict and fast decline. Richard's argument was that Jacob needed to stay elusive. He said that Jacob needed Ben to trust what he couldn't see, what he couldn't touch, and when the time was right, he would be able to do more than he ever dreamed, the fruits of his labor would be more than even he could consume. Richard always had the same final word of advice.

'_Await further instruction, Ben._'

He always had, standing at attention to a man that he has never seen and it hadn't gotten him any closer to his destination.

Ben was finally proactive; he had finally done something out of the normal procedure that Richard laid out to him all those years ago. He tipped the scales and gambled on a risk that he hoped would pay off.

He had broken the one rule that he vowed to never disobey. He cheated.

There was a loophole he put in place, a failsafe that he believed would protect him if his plans unraveled, which he prayed would never happen. And the only guarantee he had that it wouldn't was that the Island could never be found. This was the only way it would work.

His phone rang, cutting through the silence of the room and the gravity of Ben's thoughts. He picked up the receiver, angled it around his ear and jaw-line. "This is Benjamin Linus."

"Shephard and Burke have been dropped off." A deep voice proclaimed. The reception was scratchy, a little inaudible, but Ben strained to hear, the information crucial to his next move.

A smile curled the edges of his lips. "Good." He dropped the folded piece of paper, leaning back into his chair, the tension in his spine dissolved. "Now, I want you to follow Shephard wherever he goes. I want to know where he gets his dry-cleaning done. I want to know his favorite coffee shop. Everything. Be very discreet; do not underestimate him for a single second, we can't risk him making the connection." Jack Shephard was smart enough to figure it all out if the plan didn't run smoothly. Ben had enough to deal with when it came to Locke. Adding Jack into the picture wasn't in his playbook. He needed him out of the way. "He doesn't make a move without me knowing about it. Is that clear?"

"Of course, sir." The man confirmed. "Is there anything else, sir?"

Ben's voice came through like a silver bell. He was in charge now and nothing could stop him. "No. Not right now." He looked down at the sheet of paper that Richard delivered, scowling, and then smiling slimily. "Await further instruction_._" Then, with a small click, he hung up the phone.

Ben took the folded sheet of paper, playing with it between his fingers, flirting with its tattered edges and fragile weight. He pulled out a long-necked lighter from a drawer in his desk. He flicked the lighter's switch and watched as the tiny flame sparked from the long neck's edge. Teasingly so, he took the piece of paper by its edge and fitted it over the lighter's flame, watching as it crackled and set aflame at the blink of his bulged eyes. He watched it burn to pieces, the thin sheet of paper quickly charring in his hand. Before the flames could reach his fingertips, he threw it into the nearby trash container, the flames left with nothing to burn, so they extinguished themselves.

Ben had never felt more powerful. Tempting the Island had never felt so liberating. It was his time. There was no turning back.

The game had just begun.


	6. You Have To Do It Yourself

_**SO sorry for the delay! This chapter is a thematic continuation of Chapter 4 (the titles of the two chapters combine to complete a very common saying that is absolutely pertinent to Locke's mission). Some heavy mythological themes coming up folks…I hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

><p>The sun sat high in the trees, licking at their tall tips with ease. The slow pace of the still jungle slumped once a ravenous, sliver-back boar came racing through the grass, its upturned nose sniffed at the humid air, pulling it from the atmosphere, then puffing it back out in turn. His four hooves patted the ground with hastened urgency, but before the boar knew it, the trap was set, pulling its round girth from the ground. Its squeals were blood-curdling, a pitch so shrill that it could cut double-paned glass. A man's hiking boot stepped out of the barricade of his hiding place, his sights set on the yelping hog that steadily fought its fate, the restraints of the trap. He pulled a knife from his belt and approached the net with a determinate gait. He didn't think twice about what came next as he wrapped his arm around the boar's neck, pointed the knife across its throat and slit it in half, listening as the hog's whine halted, until steely silence greeted him again.<p>

The viscous droppings of blood that splattered to the ground made John Locke wish that Benjamin Linus had been at the blade instead.

Moments later, Locke sat at the edge of a campfire, his belly full of more than he could have possibly eaten in any normal circumstance. He was starving and rightfully so. He hadn't eaten a bite since the afternoon when he, Kate and Sayid felt the banks of the Others' compound fast approaching. He hadn't expected to get captured, drugged and dragged to the sole of Ben's shoes. It was funny how plans went bust, how they changed on a dime and made no apologies for the inconvenience.

He had a feeling that the Island's plans would never change, no matter what cards Ben had safely tucked into his sleeve.

It was mid-afternoon and for the past two days, he wandered, drifted through the jungle, with everywhere to go and no place to go at all. He wouldn't go back to the beach. There was nothing for him there. If he ever showed his face there again, he'd only be peppered with questions about Jack, about what happened to him, where he'd gone, why he wasn't coming back, and he hadn't the slightest clue. None of them would have ever imagined Jack abandoning them the way he has. He was more like a father to a lot of them, so the news of his departure would crush them. He didn't want to be in Kate's situation at all, that is if Ben did well on his promise to Jack of letting her and Sayid go. If he had, Kate and Sayid were reaching the outskirts of the beach as he sat there.

He wiped the pork's natural juices from his lips and sat in deep contemplation. What the hell was he going to do now? Ben offered one tempting proposition, an offer that he couldn't refuse; to learn all there was to know about the Island. But he had, he didn't have a choice. To trust Benjamin Linus was to slink back into the same slippery patterns of blind trust and exuberant reliance he'd made before. What he'd just done, getting Jack off of the Island was so much more than an eye for an eye, one good deed for another. Ben knew nothing of the art of reciprocity. He'd only been a selfish, maniacal bastard, who'd use anyone and anything he could to get what he wanted. That would never change, no matter what shiny new promise he pulled from his magical hat. Nothing would ever come of it that was beneficial. If anything, it would get him killed.

Locke's thoughts turned to Jack, the man he'd come to spiritual, and almost physical, blows with from the moment he decided that rescue was in his, and the group's, favor. In spite of how Jack treated him, Locke respected him considerably, even liked him. There weren't a lot of men like Jack left in the world, loyal, smart, kind, intense, stubborn with his beliefs, dogmatic in his courage and care for others, but there was a part of Jack that closed off the world beyond the wall of his imagination. He wasn't open enough to grasp what was true, what was real, what was right in front of him. Who made him this way? So deplete of even the capacity to dream, to hear the call that was so faint, but so true. Who denied him this gift?

He hadn't let go of something from the world he once knew, and it prevented him from embracing the earth at his feet, Locke decided. He wanted out from the start, and everyone else, as expected, followed suit. Transceivers, radio signals, rafts. Whatever they could find, plot, scheme, build, in order to escape this maddening perplexity of dirt and rock failed with flying flames and still, they asked questions, they still tried to leave. Jack never really had time to ask anything, he was always doing, moving, thinking. What failed, Jack found another way and it irritated the hell out of him.

Despite what Jack believed about him and the Island, Locke always held a torch of hope that he would one day come around to the somewhat whimsical thought of the Island offering more than a soft place to land, but it was a lost cause now. He was gone and that hope died with every step he took towards the submarine, but he saw it. Before Jack left, he saw something shimmer in his eyes when he realized what this was about again. He was obviously upset at first, then worried, then he listened, and with one blink of the eye, he was back to his old ways. He had to leave before he killed Locke with his bare hands.

John slowly marched to the realization that he had to give up on the prospect of Jack being a part of this miracle, and he doubted it would ever feel the same without him. The Island was cheated. He believed it still.

Locke stood and moved towards the lanyard of leaves that shelved above his head. He walked diligently; the slush of the sludge under his boots was the only noise he heard. It rained hours ago, and he welcomed the shower upon his over-heated skin, which now dried in the cool air. His throat was raw, scratchy. Most of the water he packed with him was gone, so he decided to use this glorious respite to find more. His short diversion brought him to a heap of short stalks, their wide leaves held water in their creases. He gently bent the flaps of their edges and allowed the liquid to drip slowly into his water bottle, collecting with the small ounce of water he had yet to devour. Every refuge of the rain's generosity was depleted until John's bottle was full.

He was set to bring the bottle's opening to his parched lips when he suddenly heard the jumbled peculiarity of whispers. He turned to look around him, but no one was there. Suddenly, a man stood at John's back, far in the distance. Locke sensed a presence over his shoulder and turned, bright eyes wide with amazement and confusion. The man wore a grungy, off-white collared, button-down shirt, untucked from the dark slacks he wore. He was barefoot, his hands clamped together in front of him, stoic features and folds of his face never broke stride. The light of the sun seemed to settle over his graying hair, creating a shadow of the trees as a backdrop.

The man stayed in place, watching, assessing. Locke moved closer, speechless and astounded. He cleared the ache of his throat, every flag of his curiosity waving in the wind.

"Who are you?" Locke asked.

Before the question had fallen out of his mouth, the man was gone, vanished without a trace.

Befuddled and outraged, Locke ran to the spot where the man once stood, hoping to find footprints at the very least, but there was nothing. It was as if he hadn't been there at all, a subliminal figment of his imagination that he hadn't known existed. Locke harbored the strange, eerie feeling that whoever that man was, he was trying to tell him something, speaking in a way that didn't use words, but was just as effective as if he had. He knew that he never saw or experienced anything that he wasn't supposed to, and this was not a rare occasion of the exception. All of this was fostered within the beautiful miracle of design, and suddenly, Locke knew exactly what he was going to do next.

He would do what Jack was supposed to do. He would find the answers. As the old saying goes, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

The faint murmur of the whispers was replaced by perilous clattering, like a fleet of several birds chirping, more like screeching in fear, dying in agony. Slow and perching at first, then clashing against the winds calm breeze, ricocheting calamitously. He turned, watching the leaves sway with the draft, which washed away the urgency of the sounds, then brought them back to his ears. It felt familiar to him, like he'd heard it before, some time in the past. A quickly-paced ticking rang through the air, then a high whistle, and another. He followed his ears as they reached for the source of the noise, then the ground quaked under his feet, growling blared through the leaves, then the horn of terror blasted through the branches, deafening.

The stalk of a nearby tree, tall and broad in shape, catapulted from the ground like a bottle-rocket, then another and another, creating a cumulous cloud of dust that blinded him. The snarling of the creature grew wrought, disturbed, and blood-curdling until the air was as cold as arctic rain. Locke faltered, falling to his feet, shocked at the wildness of what just occurred before his eyes, and yet, oddly thrilled by it. He knew that he should have ran in that moment, for his life, but he didn't, he couldn't. A force beyond his control kept him in place, unable to retreat.

It wasn't the impact of the fall that brought clarity; it was his memory that finally drudged up where he heard these sounds before, where he felt this much power harnessed, only to be released so freely and without caution. It was what the camp called The Monster, the nefarious column of smoke that he encountered in the jungle during that first boar hunt and again during the trek to the hatch door, when he was dragged through the jungle, ready to be taken where the malevolent creature demanded.

Righting himself against the grass with a tired grunt, he looked up towards the dirt that precipitated over him under the pale blue sky only to meet the hazy fog of the Monster as it settled towards him slowly, teasingly, taunting him to move and daring him to stay still. His blood ran bleak; his face lost its rosy complexion under its watchful pose. It studied him for a time, crackles of sounds and small thunders within persisted to roll straight through its transparent haze; the noises of jangling chains still rang outward.

Locke yelped in fear, agony and groaned in panic, dread. He knew what was coming next. In a fit of sudden desperation to save himself, he rose to his feet and took off in no particular direction, certain that the Monster was following him, its rumble powerful enough to make the ground shudder and shake, and would catch its prey. The ache of his knees were blinding, the soreness of his arms felt like dead weight, but he kept moving, taking off through the jungle's maze of plant life small whelps of fear curling from his mouth. Leaves smacked him all over, leaving small cuts against his forearms; each sting of their bladed edges brought a new thrust of exigency.

He hadn't travelled too far before the Monster's reach was inches away, tickling the air at his back. In an instant, the Monster tripped Locke's hustling feet. He collapsed to the ground with a groan, the battle for survival over before it ever began. The Monster's cacophony of growls, howls and high-pitched whistles was drowned out by Locke's screams for help as the Monster began to drag him by the ankles through the jungle.

Its speed was unmatched; all Locke saw was the blur of green and faint light all around him. He clawed for the ground, hoping that it would stop his descent into death, but he felt himself losing consciousness. His screams ceased once he blacked out, his lifeless body still taken through the jungle floor by the determined Monster who locked his ankles in a tight grip.

John Locke was as good as dead.

* * *

><p>Sayid stomped through a bushel of staled weeds, his face blank. Kate followed close behind, her mind elsewhere. She wiped at the sweat of her forehead and neck with a small towel, trying her best to keep it together. He suddenly stopped, pulling at his bag which was slung over his shoulder by a lone strap.<p>

"I think we should take a break."

Kate didn't argue. She plopped down into a seated position, her shoulders bowed in exhaustion. She began to peel a passion fruit that she pulled from her bag with the blunt blade of her army knife, her eyes vacant and swollen, staring at the ground with blank lure.

Sayid noticed that she hadn't slept well the night before. She tossed, turned, and might have even cried in whatever sleep she did find. She was crankier, but appeased, only because she didn't much care anymore, about anything. Every time they took a break, he caught her pulling out a silver-plated watch from her pocket, eyeing it longingly when she thought she was alone. He presumed that Jack had given it to her before he left, as a symbol of good faith. She played with its band, even tried it on once, her slim wrist way too small for it. It brought her hope, he noticed, a rejuvenated sense of purpose in moments when she looked too tired to move. It was the only thing she responded to.

Sayid didn't have any idea what to say, how to comfort her and it burdened him, because he considered himself to be a good friend to those who saw him as one, but he felt like his difference of opinion snatched away her will to fight. He much preferred that she yelled, screamed, but he didn't think she had much left, and to be honest, neither did he. He pulled a canteen of water from his bag, and gulped at it thirstily. He sat it on the ground at his feet, and caught the critiquing crease of Kate's features. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that sometimes, he wondered if she ever gave herself a mental break.

"Do you think they killed him?" Kate asked, practically out of nowhere. They hadn't spoken to each other any more than what was necessary, trying to avoid another heated confrontation at all costs. Sayid's confused glare forced her to clarify. "Locke. Do you think the Others killed him?"

"I don't know." Sayid answered, honestly. It was obvious that Ben had no respect for life, especially those of his enemies. It still puzzled him that he let them go so easily, without as much as a few dozen bruises that would heal with time. "Locke tried to blow up his submarine. I'm certain that Benjamin wouldn't take that lightly."

"He threatened to kill me, you know." She was staring down at the ground, her eyes vacant. His behavior was peculiar, and she was steadily reminded of just how similar their conversation over breakfast was to the one they had over the same morning staples of eggs and pancakes. "He's hiding something." It was all so clear to her now.

"Besides his identity this time?" Sayid's attempt at a joke fell on dead ears once he saw the staid fire in Kate's eyes.

"Besides the fact that he had a tumor growing on his spine that no one knew about. Why do you think he infiltrated our camp? It definitely wasn't to welcome us to the Island. He had a plan even then, and he has one now." But what was his plan now? She asked herself. She couldn't put her finger on why she felt this way, why these questions were popping up just now, but she had this inkling that there was more to Ben than what met the eye.

"He said he would kill me if I got in his way. I don't know what he's hiding, but it's important to him, more important to him than anything else, and he's afraid of someone finding out."

"How do you know that?" Sayid asked.

She closed her eyes, shrugging. "I don't know…intuition? We all have our secrets, Sayid." She knew that better than anyone, the past four years of her life were riddled with secrets, lies and tall-tales. "Ben's just making sure his stay that way."

She tilted her cheek into her palm; the color in her skin was still a hue that rivaled the deepest blush. Only then did she notice it. The soiled doll that she and Jack stumbled upon when they were on their way to confront the Others still lied just where it had all that time ago. She didn't recognize the twitch of her lips as they curved up into a smile. She rose and walked towards it. She unveiled it from the long blades of grass and she never thought she'd find just joy in ever seeing it again. Her eyes darted around it, intent on finding the missing piece. She stepped to the left, and there it was.

The net.

Jack had thrown it to the side after untangling it from her curls and helping her to her feet, but his laughter kept her grounded. The tension between them sizzled under the flame of the chemistry that just wouldn't die, and she couldn't get over how amazing the sound of his laughter felt to her. The weight of his broad palm against her hip was dizzying. He barely noticed it, how one touch seeped and settled against her so easily, but she certainly had, racing to feel more, but slowly steadying herself against him as he straightened to stand.

Her eyes misted with tears. What was wrong with her? It was just a net, a silly, old mesh of threaded yarn, but she knew that it was the memory attached to it that was breaking her heart all over again. It was during a time when they were on the brink of something incredible, and now it felt like it hadn't even happened, like her memories was living in a reality that never existed, never permeated with any matter besides her own. If only she'd told him that he scared the hell out of her, emotionally rocked her, that his kiss still tickled her lips, brushed her soul and that believing in her so much was why she was so prone to making so many mistakes, if only she were honest about all things she should have been honest about.

She brought the net's latticed weave through her small fingers and balled her fists, absorbing what little hope it gave her. It was just like the watch. It wasn't enough.

She heard Sayid's footsteps approach her. "What is it?" She didn't let him see the tears that shone in her eyes. She let go of the net, letting it fall back to the ground.

She cleared her throat. "Nothing. It's just a net." She rose, feigning nonchalance. "We're close. We should get moving."

Something told Sayid that she hadn't stumbled upon any ordinary net, based on the effort she made that kept her face from falling, her eyes from relinquishing the tears he saw in them. She grabbed her bag, zipped it harshly and began on the solid path towards the beach without a word, even more depressed than she was before. Sayid watched after her with sadness in his eyes.

Another reminder of Jack, he presumed.

He watched her with saddened eyes. Once they arrived to the beach, his former presence would only become more prominent, and he silently prayed that it wouldn't break Kate any more than his absence already has.

* * *

><p>Rain covered everything in its path. The body of one John Locke lay motionless, still, abandoned in a muddy plot of grassless earth. He lied on his back, he wasn't breathing, practically fighting his way towards consciousness. His chest suddenly rose slowly until it protruded over his first full breath since his last memory of being pulled through the grass of the jungle.<p>

He gradually broke into awareness, his eyes popping open, coughing, stammering, breathing heavily and fully once the water and stale air had finally been pushed out. The sky above was murky with grey clouds, shattered by slivers of lightening, and roars of thunder. He blinked repeatedly, preventing the heavy pour from falling into his eyes. He brought his hand up to his face and noticed the blood mingled with dirt all over his hands and arms. Confusion shown all over his face.

Was he alive? Was he dead? He panicked, frozen. He struggled to sit up, whimpering against the unfurled throb of his entire body. Splatting into the ground from eight stories up felt less painful compared to the living death he was currently experiencing.

He tried to move his legs, but found that he felt very little sensation below the waist. Fear rose inside of him, and tears came to his eyes. He looked down at his feet and discovered that his left foot was without the hiking boot that he tied to it. The black fabric of his sock was soaked with mud, the toes beneath it numbed by the wintry breeze. He pulled his head back to rest against the ground and silently wept, angry and confused, tired of trying, of losing. Why was this happening to him? Why had the Island given him a gift that no medical professional ever thought possible only to toy and tinker with it?

First, he couldn't feel much of anything after Ben ordered that he be released from his shackles. He would have chided him further if he'd allowed it, but sensation returned fully moments later like a knob had turned in his favor. Now, it was a lower degree of nothing, an emptiness almost, the same type of bareness he felt when he woke up in the hospital to the news that his spine was crushed and that he would never walk again.

After a few moments of wishing and hoping, sending every ounce of energy he had left into prayer, buoyant that some higher being would hear him and make sensation return to where it hadn't been since before the crash, he stayed still. Willing himself to keep his emotions in check and his spirits high, he took slow, practiced breaths. Soon, he looked down at the tip of the sock-covered toes of his left foot, and urged it to move. To his delight, his toes flexed and extended, his strangled gasp signaled his elation. He laughed shortly, his breathing still ragged and troubled. He realized what that was. Another test, of his faith, of his resilience, of his patience.

"Welcome back." He whispered with the pant of subdued joy.

Grateful, he pulled his upper-half from the ground, searching for his lost boot in the nearby filth of the muddy meadow. Finally, he spotted it nearby, out of his reach. Unable to stand just yet, he dragged himself over to his boot, blindly reaching. His grip caught it, dragging it to his side. Then, he noticed something that was lying next to it. He looked over and was shocked by the naked skeleton of fingers, small bits of flesh still hanging from the feeble bones. He perused the bones only to find them still attached to the bones of a hand, a faded watch still banded to the wrist. Attached were the exposed, chewed bones of the arm, its flesh and muscle eaten by the jungle's wildlife. It had to have been ripped from the shoulder joint of its owner years go, wretchedly so.

Locke immediately knew that the arm belonged to one of the Monster's victims.

He began to ponder why the Monster kept him alive again. Another question that he sought an answer for.

His vision came into focus, and only then did he notice that the jungle wasn't the only fixture in his sights. The lining of a stone-cobbled wall, stained with dew, covered with snake-like drapes of vine and fainted by the bleaching of heavy sunlight sat above him, high above. Its edge had to be seven to eight feet tall. He looked down at his feet and noticed a dark hole at the base of the wall. He maneuvered himself towards it, staring into the crack between the wall's foundation and the ground underneath. He couldn't discern where it led to.

With his best effort, Locke came to his feet, and wobbled towards the wall, his shoulder landing onto it with a solid thump. Ancient, crumbling and overgrown, the exterior of the wall was adorned with hieroglyphics of some kind. In some places, these hieroglyphics appeared rudely carved over otherwise delicate and intricate decorations in the stonework, like someone decided to redecorate. Locke was fascinated, enthralled, his fingers tracing over one of the carvings. This was it, what he'd been looking for.

He shuffled towards the doorway. Standing on his own, he pulled at the handle, but the heavy stone door wouldn't budge, sealed shut permanently. Frustrated, Locke tried a number of times to pull the door open, but it wouldn't release from the frame and allow him inside. An idea popped into his head. The hole. If memory served, it looked big enough for him to squeeze through. Locke stepped back in front of the hole, bent his debilitatingly achy knees to take a closer look. For the most part, the hole was dark, bits and pieces of the cobblestone barricade were sprinkled everywhere. Locke tilted his head at a different angle and was surprised by the faint glow of light. Someone was in there, he thought.

Determined, Locke maneuvered himself so that his legs would take the plunge first. He slid down into the tight fit of the hole, only to discover the length of a hallway in the distance. Crawling from the knit space, Locke discovered the torch that was responsible for the light he saw from outside, hanging from a hole embedded into the wall. He took it into his hand and allowed it to lead him down the rest of the hallway. He came to an open corner that led down another hallway. Suddenly fearful for what he might find, he pulled at the hunting knife that was still tethered to his belt, welding it in his fist. He was almost at the end of the hallway when he noticed the top of a staircase.

He descended down each step with a cautioned pace. It felt so cold and inhabitable, Locke shivered. Once he reached the last step, he found himself in a chamber of some sort, sustained by four stoned pillars covered in the primordial ornate of hieroglyphics, the same etchings found on the exterior of the barricade above ground.

Locke's eyes stretched with wonder. He twirled with the torch illuminating dark spaces within, the detail unlike anything he'd ever seen. At the end of the room, Locke approached a stone carving on a wall above a large angled stone slab perforated with a myriad of tiny holes. His eyes landed on the mural, an antique depiction of what Locke presumed to be the Monster peacefully encountered by an ancient entity of some kind, with the body of a modern human, but the head of another creature entirely, complete with a long stout, rows of sharp-edged incisors and pointed ears at the center.

The familiar chittering of the Monster was heard from the tiny holes of the stone-slabbed vent at the floor. Locke balked away in terror, and realized with certainty that this was where the Monster lived. These were its dwellings.

Why had it brought him here? He wondered. With that thought, the flame of his torch flickered repeatedly, a low growl filtered into the silence. Locke backed away further from the mural and the vent, racing for the stairs. He struggled to reach the top before the Monster could smell his fear, and he did so, breathing loudly. After he caught his breath, he discovered another hallway, one he hadn't noticed at all. He wondered just how many vessels this place truly had.

Anxious to escape the Monster, Locke stepped into the passageway and stopped dead in his tracks. Down the hallway, he spotted a man. His back was to him, his spine stiff and his feet were bare, walking towards a dim of light, the outline of his shadow playing against the dusty floor. Even though he couldn't see his face, Locke knew it was the man he saw in the jungle, before the Monster arrived to drag him away. He quietly watched the figure walk down the dimly-lit hallway, then he turned a corner, out of view. Locke heard the shifting of something heavy grind into the floor, the sliding of a door perhaps. More light flooded the hallway and the shadow beckoned Locke to follow. He walked slowly down the hall, one hand holding the torch upright, the other poised over the handle of his knife, readying himself for a battle. He turned toward the entryway of another chamber; a heavy stone door was cracked open, allowing firelight to bleed into the passageway.

Locke entered through the crack of the door and was greeted with the flames of a fire that sat in the middle of the room. Mesmerized, he took in the bareness of the room, nothing was inside except for the central pit that crackled with flames. There were carvings all over the walls, symbols, drawings, elaborate yet simplistic etches of shapes, animals, Gods, people. Most of the sketches weren't just scattered icons, they melded together to represent ancient myths, tall tales, history.

He studied the carvings, a little upset that he couldn't decipher what the symbols conveyed, only able to pick up bits and pieces.

The common thread of all of them, Locke realized, was the Smoke Monster. Its representation in certain schemes were varied, its form of black smoke depicted as a paralleled overlay of zigzagged lines in one lineage of legend and a scribbled swirl in others. It had been on this Island for ages, he noticed. Another mural, chipped and worn, was painted on one end of the room. Locke studied it with garlanded attraction. It painted the picture of the Monster struggling, wrapped in chains, leashed by humans that held the shackles in place.

A knob of some kind was placed underneath it, embedded into the floor. He inspected it carefully, and discovered that it was as old as the chamber itself, crumbling with the rest of the ancient ruins. The crevice that surrounded it was damp, like water had pooled there, but was recently released. Locke's mind began to reel as to what this thing they called the Monster actually was. A guardian? A protector? A villainous creature that could destroy any and everything in its path? He'd seen what the Monster was capable of, but this chamber, it seemed like the Monster was being held under lock and key, not just in ancient times, but even in the present moment. The humans who inhabited the Island long ago had created a mechanism that both summoned and imprisoned the Monster, and that method was still being practiced today.

The flame of Locke's torch began to flicker again, extinguishing for seconds at a time, only to reignite. The air in the room went from chilly to freezing. The hushed chattering of the Monster tickled his ears, quickened his heartbeat. He turned abruptly and met the obscure outline of a man at the door, his face concealed; the only visible aspects were his soiled clothing and bare feet. It was the same figure from the jungle and from the hallway. The man stood there like a statue, watching Locke with eyes that sat behind the guise of the shadowy gloom.

Locke didn't know whether to be scared or intrigued, grateful or accusatory. This was the person who led him here; this was who had reached out to him.

"Who are you?" His tone was more forceful than the last time he asked, adamant for a reply.

The man moved closer, the flames illuminated his face, marred with lines that displayed his ripeness, spotted with grey stubble at his cheeks, chin and jawline. His hair was stringy, slick and his eyes were a fluorescent sapphire, as deep as the ocean blue.

"My name is Christian." He grinned, wrinkles folding at the corners of his eyes. "It's nice to finally meet you, John."


	7. Homecoming

_**New Year's Resolution Number One: Get these chapters out to you all at a faster pace! So sorry about that. December is always a busy month for me. I hope your holiday season went well. I know mine did. Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy! **_

* * *

><p>Jack pulled into the driveway of his childhood home. He cut the ignition with the flick of his wrist, his nerves completely shot. He was about to look his mother in the eyes for the first time since that last night before he left, in pursuit of the man he was supposed to bring back in one piece, his father. Just as he failed him, he had failed her, he thought as he opened the car door and climbed out. He rang the doorbell, plucking the sunglasses from his face as he waited. The large door came open and Jack smiled at the view of his mother, Margo. Her hair had grown longer, a little curl at the tips, dangling over her shoulders. She looked just as he remembered, her eyes the color of a thunderous sky, her hair dark brown with lines of grey at her temples, but her face displayed a little more wrinkles than he remembered; it showed how much worry and loss she'd gone through.<p>

"Hi Mom." His smile was fragile, but full as he awaited her reply.

"Jack?" Her eyes were wide with astonishment. She gripped the fabric of her blouse, her heart beating erratically. This couldn't be real. Her only child, her son, stood in front of her, bigger than life, his eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of her. Her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. She made the first move, running to him, wrapping her arms around him, sobbing into his chest, her entire body rattled with sobs. He smiled with tears in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She was so small and fragile in his arms as she continued to heave and sob. He felt that if he held too firmly, he'd hurt her, but rushed the thought away as he tightened his grip.

Her voice was muffled against his chest, tears still evident in her tone. Her breath was caught in her chest, but she spoke over it. "Oh my God." She looked up at him then; a range of unbridled emotions played through her stormy eyes. She cupped her son's cheeks with her frail, petite hands, taking in the full view of him, the line of her mouth turning upwards into another captivating smile. "It's not a dream. It's really you." The smile he returned was a welcomed sight. This was no dream she'd ever had. This was better.

Jack nodded. "It's really me, Mom." He whispered with a laugh, his tears finally came down his cheeks, landing into his mother's palms as the gifts they were.

Margo's heart soared. "I knew you were alive." She confessed in between more sobs, rubbing her hands into the scratch of his stubble again and again. "I knew it." She brought him into her arms again, her hold impenetrably strong and unyielding. They stood in the doorway for what felt like hours, just holding each other. She sighed contentedly into his shoulder and in that moment, for the first time, Jack was home.

Moments later, they were settled next to each other at the island counter in the large kitchen. A coffee cup sat in Jack's hand while Margo nursed a glass of water. He looked from the dark, hot elixir in his cup to his mother, who hadn't taken her eyes off of him.

"You're staring, Mom." Jack noted, laughing as he took a sip from his coffee cup. She smiled, taking his free hand into hers, squeezing it lightly.

"Can you blame me?" She asked with a light chuckle, her small hand still covering his much larger one. "What happened?" Three months had passed and she hadn't heard anything from him, it was as if he vanished off the face of the planet. When he thought about it, the Island wasn't like any place that existed in the world. It almost felt like it wasn't a part of the world at all; it was its own world within the one he knew.

He cleared his throat and sat the coffee cup onto the marble counter-top. "There was a plane crash." Margo physically tensed, her hand still held his. "Besides myself, there were two others who survived, but they died shortly afterwards. Eventually, I was the only one left." He hated to lie to her, but he remembered what he was told on the submarine, about the Island, about not being able to tell anyone, not even those closest to him. "I survived in the jungle, made camp and waited, prayed that someone would find me. One day, rescue finally came…and here I am."

She brightened at the happy ending; the result was that he was sitting next to her. She couldn't have prayed harder for this moment if she tried. But a small thought nagged at her. How was it that she hadn't heard about the crash on the news? Why hadn't there been any coverage about a plane falling from the sky, literally disappearing? There were other passengers, people who had families of their own that were left without answers about their loved ones' whereabouts. It was the most vulnerable she'd ever felt, left without an explanation about her child's empty place in her life. "It must have been so hard for you."

He nodded curtly, swallowing her understanding. It was hard, harder than she could have ever imagined. He cleared his throat again, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "About Dad…"

She interrupted him, her voice soft, forgiving. "I know, Jack. I know." Something inside of her knew that she would never see her husband again, would never get to bury him, to have a place to go to talk to him. "It would have been nice to bury him next to his father and grandfather, to let him rest in peace, but when has he ever made it easy for us?" She leaned in slightly at the sound of Jack's light laughter, looking at her baby boy adoringly, still feeling the need to pinch herself. "I'm just so happy that you're finally home, Jack. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too." After he said it, she saw his face fall, guilt seeped from those emotional eyes of his. She knew her son, how to read him, how to understand him, and everything she would ever need to know always shown in his round, expressive eyes. She waited for him to say whatever it was he was struggling with.

"I'm so sorry that I couldn't bring him back to you, alive, in one piece." Jack wiped a tear from his cheek as the words came rushing like a tidal wave. "You were right. It's my fault that he left. If I hadn't ruined his career, maybe he'd still be here with us. Maybe…"

"No, Jack." She placed her hand on his cheek, wiping at another tear that seeped from his eye. He looked over at her. "I was wrong for making you feel guilty, for sending you after him the way I did, for making you believe that you were to blame." Her fingers wiped at another tear. "You're my son, _our_ son, and you lost him too, and I didn't see that until it was too late. I'm so sorry Jack." He nodded, his eyes still wet with tears.

She rose to fill Jack's cup with more coffee. "I shouldn't have allowed him to be so hard on you. That's how this all started." She leaned into the edge of the counter across from where Jack still sat. "You never spoke to him when you were a child; it was like you were afraid of him." It was sad that he couldn't refute her claims, because she was right. It wasn't necessarily that he was afraid of his father; he just never knew how to talk to him, how to just…_be_ around him, without that festering sense of tension and expectation. It was something he would struggle with for most of his childhood and well into adulthood. She handed the cup to him and he took it, setting it down next to him, listening to his mother intently.

"He would come home, tired, and he'd go to your bed room first thing, and watch you do your homework." Jack remembered those moments, how dwarfed he felt, how stuffy the room became every time his father stepped into it. "Then he got the idea about piano lessons and well, you know where that went."

"Yeah, I do. Three-hour sessions every night after homework. There was barely any time for much else." Christian pushed him so hard, at everything. Jack looked over at his mother and saw the tears falling down her cheeks, her lips tightened into a thin line. Those memories were really devastating for her, for some reason, and it dismayed him to see her so sad. He reached out and took her hand. "It wasn't your fault, Mom."

"Of course it was." She sighed with a light shrug. "I should have come between the two of you and helped you come to some understanding of each other. I sided with your father because I didn't have the strength to go against him. Thirty-three years of marriage, of being told what to do instead of deciding it for yourself will do that to you." She settled back into the stool next to Jack. "I loved your father, but he always expected too much of you too soon. You stood up to him. Maybe if I had, things would be different."

"I wish there was something I could do to honor him, you know? To make him proud." Jack admitted. Despite their differences, Christian, for all his faults and flaws, was a good man, a man that he looked up to. He would always miss that influence in his life, no matter how many problems that influence caused.

"You honor him and make him proud every day Jack, by being the man you are. But, now that you mention it," she disappeared around a corner for awhile until she returned again, "there's something we have to discuss." She approached Jack with a large white envelope tucked into her hands.

"What's this?" Jack asked.

"It's your father's last living will." Margo admitted. She opened the envelope, pulling the documents into the light. "It took me an eternity to find it in that pig sty he called an office. Why he wouldn't just give it to his lawyer, I will never know." She laughed nostalgically. "I wanted it read before his funeral."

Jack wasn't sure what the will had to do with honoring his father. "What does it say?"

"Well, the obvious loose ends that needed to be settled. He left me this house, the other properties and assets." Margo said. "Your trust fund is still there, you know. It's grown quite substantial over the past thirty-eight years and can make for—"

"I don't need money, Mom." Jack sighed, interrupting her. He knew where this conversation was going, and he wasn't in the mood to discuss it. He never wanted anything to do with his trust fund, the money that had been sitting in a bank account, accumulating from the moment he was born. He never found himself willing to use any of it; his salary was more than enough money for a lifetime or two, and since he was so good at his job, he was worth all the more.

"I know you don't, but you've known about it since you were a child, that it would be there, and it still is." She cocked her head at the rebelliousness in his eyes. "It's your birthright, Jack." A part of Margo had always felt like Jack's denial of it was his way of rejecting his family, his denial of being born into power and wealth. She knew that he would never touch it, so she decided not to be angry about it anymore, and instead suggest a way for him to make the money useful. "If you have a family of your own someday, you can use it to build your life with them."

He cleared his throat, signaling the end of his patience with the topic. "What else does it say?"

Margo gave up. "In addition to the charitable fund your father wanted to give the hospital in his name, he made a recommendation to the board of directors about who they should heavily consider for the Chief of Surgery position in the event that something happened to him."

"Who'd he choose?" Jack asked, taking a carefree sip from his coffee cup.

Margo waited a beat, completely focused on this moment and what it could mean for Jack and the legacy of her family. "He picked you, Jack."

Jack choked on the coffee that sat in his throat. He coughed, stammered, finally able to breathe again after a few more low, strangled coughs. His eyes rounded with alarm and panic, pure, unfiltered panic. "What?" His voice was squeaky, high, and hoarse. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, the wide, large kitchen seeming to shrink before his very eyes. Then, there was anger, blinding anger, because yet again, Christian had done something that was completely confusing to him, downright befuddling. "Why would he do that?"

"'_Why_?'" Margo's disappointment ran clear through her echo. "Because you're the most talented young surgeon in the city, in the entire state, maybe even the region and he wanted you to follow in his footsteps." Margo stepped closer, placing the will onto the marble counter-top. "He wanted you to have this, Jack, something that he cherished, that he worked hard for. He wanted it to be yours."

Jack turned into the counter, rubbing the back of his head, and then his forehead as his elbows rested against the landing. He was growing dizzier by the second; he had to actually focus on breathing, his mind reeling for an exit strategy. Bearing in mind how Christian parted with the hospital, how heavily would the board consider his recommendation anyway? Jack thought. He took a final, practiced breath and turned back to Margo, who stood expectantly by his side. Her heart filled with hope that fizzled as soon as she looked into her son's telling eyes.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mom. I can't."

The grin on Margo's face fell from her lips. "I can't?" Her discontent was more than enough to kill him. "Why not? There was a time in your life when you seriously considered being Chief of Surgery, when the time came. _This_ is the time."

She was putting words in his mouth again, a habit that she didn't even realize she had. "No, Mom. There was a time when I wanted to _earn_ it, because I deserved it, not because Dad decided to give it to me as a parting gift from the grave." Jack argued.

Understanding washed away Margo's urge to bludgeon her only child. "Is that what you think he did, Jack?" She didn't wait for Jack to confirm, his eyes, once again, told a pretty clear story. "Well, you're wrong. We talked about it a lot before you two had a falling out, before he left for Australia."

"What?" Jack asked.

"We talked about it a few years ago. You were still married to Sarah, and your father thought that it was time to consider retirement. Jack was stumped, completely and utterly baffled by what he was hearing. Retirement? Nothing about his father before he left signaled that he had a thought in his mind about retiring. If he recalled correctly, Christian was trying to hold onto his job at all costs, going as far as asking his own son to lie for him and with him. Jack was honest with himself, and he knew that it would take him a few more years at the very least to earn the opportunity to be Chief of Surgery. He had little to no experience with what it took to organize and direct an entire department. He knew nothing about the administrative duties of the job, and honestly, he didn't want to know. At his core, he loved to cut, and the Chief of Surgery position wasn't going to make that drive, that hunger any easier to satisfy. If anything, the dry bureaucracy that came with the job would eat him alive.

"It was a glorious dream for me, to have him home all the time, to take vacations, to do all those things we put off for his career. But when it came down to it, he just couldn't do it. You knew how he was, he couldn't breathe without surgery, the adrenaline rush, that need for control that you two have always shared. He wouldn't let go of it."

Jack stared off into the distance, a little more than overwhelmed by what his mother just told him. He had no idea that his father had planned to retire, to actually lead a life that wasn't driven by medicine. It made him realize that she didn't just lose her husband; she'd lost the hope of more time with him, the dream of more opportunities, of more of the life they promised to share with each other.

"So, he decided to play it by ear, take a few more years to see if he still had it in him to do the job, and then make a formal announcement, leaving the position to you, because, in your father's eyes, you _earned_ it." She looked at him with such a pleading gaze. "He trusted you Jack, no matter how hard he pushed you. He believed that you have what it takes." At those words, something seated deep inside of Jack erupted. He turned away from her, rising from the stool, his patience bursting, his resolve cracking under the pressure. His father was dead and he still held the power to dictate his life.

He turned to meet her eyes, his brazen with anger, and his voice high and loud. "Did he tell you that, Mom? Because he sure as hell didn't tell me."

Tears threatened to flow, hot, angry ones that burned like acid. She had no idea the power that her choice of words held over him. She hadn't one clue about how he carried that with him to this day. He couldn't get tangled up in this, he still had to get back to the Island, a detail that he couldn't share with his own mother for fear that she would try and succeed at stopping him. Margo froze, her son's sudden anger startling her. He could tell that he wasn't helping the situation by the dejected look on her face. Her heart was breaking all over again, because he wasn't receptive to what she was saying, because it should have been coming from Christian, not her. He groaned. Why did everything always have to be so hard?

He approached her regretfully. "I'm sorry Mom, I just…" He didn't know what to say to make her feel better. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Margo approached him slowly, and took his hands into hers. She waited awhile before she spoke. "You will, Jack. One day you will…when you're ready."

* * *

><p>The still, quiet morning on the beach played peacefully under the light brushes of sunlight that peeked through the strings of clouds and dusk in the sky. The wind was light, its breeze settling over the sand with a welcoming glide. The opening of a tent at the treeline was pulled back to reveal Jin, who was naked above the waist, a satisfied, sleepy smile on his face. Tiny hands skittered around his waist and landed over the muscular bulge of his torso, and a head peeked over his shoulder and landed there, her warm cheek settling over its landing. Sun. Her smile mirrored that of her husband, lazy, easy, and full. Despite the worry in their hearts for their friends, they were rather enjoying the renewed sense of passion in their relationship.<p>

At the shore, Bernard sat with Vincent at his side, both watching the small tide come in, shifting the sand banks underneath it, and pulling the grains with it. This was an everyday occurrence for the two of them, a morning ritual. Bernard would wake and walk to the kitchen to gather his cup for his morning coffee and a small boiling pot to heat up the water he would need. Not a second too soon would Vincent show up, his snout at Bernard's heels, ready to follow his new friend wherever he would lead, man's best friend in every way.

Rose soon approached the scene with a bowl in her hand. She bent slowly, letting the bowl settle into the sand and Vincent instantly came to her, his snout buried in the contents of the dish, busying himself with satisfying his hunger. Bernard looked over at his wife as she rubbed the pup's back and ears, so gentle and loving was she always. She met her husband's gaze, and smiled as he motioned for her to come and join him. She settled into the sand next to him, his hand in hers allowing her to plop next to him without effort. Their eyes never wavered as they leaned in, a lingering kiss with the backdrop of the clouds parting to reveal the stinging rays of sunlight was a moment too picturesque, to perfect for words. They couldn't have picked a better retirement spot.

Hurley was a man on a mission. He stood in the kitchen, organizing and categorizing the inventory, and making room for the new arrivals on the makeshift shelves and counters. Ever since Kate, Sayid and Locke left in search of Jack, two more pallets of DHARMA supplies showed up in the jungle, falling from the sky and landing silently with the help of an expanded parachute, precariously close to the beach, to their camp. Canned goods of fruits and vegetables, dry cereal, oatmeal, candy bars, and other items were in abundance now. It was like someone knew that they were running low, and answered their prayers with more of what they needed.

Nearby, Aaron wiggled around in his crib, his small feet and tiny, balled fists pumped in the air unceremoniously, his little wails of discomfort cut through the nearby silence. Hands reached into the crib almost instantly in response, picking all nine pounds of him from his reclined position.

"It's okay, it's okay." Charlie cooed as Aaron wiggled in his arms, finally settling against his chest as he rose to walk around with him. "Good morning, Turniphead." He punctuated the greeting with a kiss to the infant's temple. "You sleep well?" In response, as if he could understand a word that Charlie was saying, Aaron yawned, his tiny body shaking, trembling as his little limbs stretched and flexed.

"That good, huh?" Charlie laughed. He turned back towards the tent, watching her beautiful, sleeping face with unrepressed rapture. Charlie could never resist waking up a little earlier to watch Claire sleep, her features softened, vulnerable, like a child. He could see into her soul when she slept. Sensing his eyes on her, hers fluttered open, the haziness of her vision caught the beauty of the man she loved holding her son high in his arms, bouncing around with him in a straight line drawn in the sand.

Claire sighed, shifting slightly to get a better view. "Hey."

"Hey!" Charlie chimed, walking towards the tent and settling next to Claire, who rose, anchored by her elbow.

She rubbed at her eyes, brushing the remnants of sleep away as she looked into Aaron's eyes. Claire reached for her son, who was given freely from Charlie's hands. She kissed the infant all over his round, chubby face, laughing at the giggle that unfurled from his tiny mouth. Charlie watched on with an aching heart. She literally lit up when she held her child in her arms. It was the most beautiful sight he ever did see. She sat up fully now, next to Charlie, with Aaron in her lap. She kissed the ball of his head, her eyes wandering in front of her, distracted, haunted. Charlie knew that look all too well. Her mind had gone back to Jack, Kate, Sayid and Locke. She worried constantly, and as the days wore on, she worried all the more.

"They're gonna be okay, you know." Charlie whispered, his attempt to make her feel better never falling on deaf ears. Claire turned to him, smiling sadly, but not able to hold up the pretense for long.

"They've been gone for more than a week, Charlie. Jack's been missing for much longer." Claire confessed, her grip on Aaron tightening as he squirmed in her lap, having had enough of his mother's affection. "I can't shake the feeling that something terrible has happened." Charlie brought a comforting hand to her back, rubbing up and down her spine soothingly. He knew that this had to be hard for Claire, who didn't have fond memories of the Others at all, neither did he. They both knew what it felt like to be captured, held against their will, even if they didn't remember the minute details. While Charlie tried to be the man, fearless and strong, the fear would always be real for Claire; the worry for their friends would always win out. Charlie felt helpless, powerless against what was happening to her, so he decided to do what he could, give what he could give.

"You know what we need?" Claire shrugged, not in the least bit interested in playing Charlie's guessing game. "A day away from the beach, from Aaron, from everything. Just you and me."

Claire smiled in spite of her harrowing mood. "As lovely as that sounds, who are we gonna get to watch this little one for us?" She brought Aaron up from her lap, snuggling his nose into hers, his gummy smile the perfect antidote. "It's not like we have people standing in line to babysit…"

Charlie had completely clocked out on the conversation, Claire's voice swaying in the background as his eyes focused on the figure approaching the beach. Long, dark curls blew in the wind, flowing off of fit shoulders that backpack straps were settled over, a rifle was slung over the left shoulder, a short stature growing taller with every step it took towards them.

"Kate?" Charlie asked absentmindedly. He couldn't believe his eyes. There she was, Kate, walking towards the beach, and no one else seemed to notice.

Claire shifted Aaron in her arms again, settling him into her bosom, where he would settle back to sleep. "Charlie, come on." She groaned, irritated with Aaron's protests and Charlie's inattentiveness. "Kate has been gone for days, or were you not listening to anything I just said?"

Charlie turned, confused at what she was implying, but then it dawned on him. "No. No. Kate!" Charlie pointed down the beach, where Kate, followed closely by Sayid, was making her way. "She's back! They're back!" This caught the attention of those who were peppered along the beach, turning to watch their friends approach them. They were safe, they were alive.

Kate and Sayid hadn't even made it past the last tent that bracketed the treeline before people started to run towards them, showering them with hugs and kisses. Hurley was the first to greet Kate, grabbing her and twirling her around in his arms, emptying every inch of Kate's lungs in the process. Sayid was greeted by Charlie and Jin, who were too excited to take turns greeting him, and decided to jointly hug him eagerly and fully from both sides. Rose and Bernard settled over Kate, suffocating her with love and concern in the form of tight embraces and firm caresses, and peppering her with questions as if she were their unruly teenage daughter, who had snuck out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night. They were truly the best parents she never had.

After Rose and Bernard moved on to embrace Sayid, Kate and Sun shared a touching moment of tears, both women filling up with emotion as they hugged, their eyes spilling over with their happiness. Kate pulled from the hug after a long moment, wiping at her tears when both she and Sun caught sight of Claire, standing on the banks of the group gathering, watching with confusion in her bright eyes. Aaron was settled over her chest, nestled into her, completely oblivious to the homecoming. Kate approached Claire with a loving smile and brought her into a hug, one that Claire couldn't help but return. They were like sisters, after all, bonded by Aaron's birth and so much more.

Kate pulled out of the hug, and brought her hand to Aaron's cheek, caressing it soothingly. Claire looked over Kate's shoulder, staring at the continued greetings and overflow of happiness and relief from the group. She looked into Kate's eyes, a question marked her brow.

"Where are Jack and Locke?" The smile fell from Kate's face, and all celebratory vibes washed into the coming tide.

Moments later, everyone stood in a vacant clearing right in the middle of the camp, staring at Sayid, who took the spotlight, garnering the attention and curiosity of every man and woman before him. Kate stood next to him, distant, distracted, and quiet. She wasn't at all in tune with what Sayid had to say, but she would allow him to do this. She knew that she was way too emotional to be objective, but Sayid's sentiment of betrayal wasn't without influence on him either, but he was much better at hiding it, or so Kate hoped.

Sayid placed his hands on his hips, his head swayed as he looked at everyone before him, eyes hungry for answers. "Jack and Locke are gone."

The group froze in shock and surprise, a random '_What?_' mixed calamitously with the occasional gasp cracked at Sayid's composure. This would be harder than he thought it would be. Kate was visibly choked with emotion as she stood off to the side, one arm crossed over her middle while a hand lay over her mouth, watching the devastation play in everyone's eyes, in the features of their faces. It was like staring into a mirror.

"What do you mean _gone_?" Charlie scoffed, unfolding his arms. "What the hell happened out there?" Murmurs subsided so that Sayid's answer could be heard. His deep breath signaled that this wouldn't be a simple, short, concise tale.

"Kate, Locke and I followed a trail that led us to a compound of homes on the other end of this Island. This compound is where the Others live. Once we arrived, we caught sight of Jack in the courtyard of this community. He was living with them. He was alive and well, and he didn't appear to look like a prisoner." Whispers came from the group, mutters of speculation danced on the cool breeze. Some shook their heads in disbelief, while others stood emotionless, void of any reaction at all. "In spite of what we saw, we decided to go through with our plan to save him. We reached his barrack, only for our efforts to be thwarted and we were captured."

"The man we know as Henry Gale goes by the name Benjamin Linus, and he is the leader of this group. In the days that Jack has lived in communion with them, he made a deal with Benjamin." Everyone sat in bated breath for what Sayid would say next, hoping for an explanation as to why Jack hadn't come back with them. "Jack decided that he wanted to leave the Island…and…and he did so that evening, despite our efforts to help him."

Sayid brought a hand over his mouth, still unbelieving of the news that he was reporting, still angry and disappointed in the man he believed to be his friend. He caught the tears in Hurley's eyes and the twitchy shudder of his shoulders, the large man on the verge of a breakdown. Sun quietly translated the news to her husband, who looked positively perplexed once he realized what had been said. Claire bowed her head, the sand at her feet somehow mesmerizing to her now, her devastation plain to see. Charlie brought his arm around her waist in comfort. Rose and Bernard shared a wordless glance that nothing could be deduced from.

Sayid cleared his throat and continued. "We lost track of John. He was supposed to help us in our efforts to save Jack, but he tried to execute plans that he concealed from us. We believe that he's still with the Others, that they're holding him captive. They might have killed him by now, we're not exactly sure."

Everyone was so quiet, pensive, and crestfallen. What a blow they'd just been burdened with. Jack left the Island, without a word, without warning or announcement, and most likely, without a shred of guilt for leaving the people he claimed to care about completely unprotected. He was just…gone. Locke's fate was left in the hands of the people that they feared most of all, the kidnappers and murderers that tried to take so much from them. Now they had it all. Jack and Locke, the two men that despite their odds and differences, everyone trusted to protect them and lead the way.

Claire spoke up, her emotions caught in her Australian accent. "So, you're telling us that Jack left us behind, just like that?"

Sayid was left momentarily stunned by the bluntness of Claire's question. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it, but he wasn't sure how to answer. He knew that they all still held such respect and admiration for Jack, and he still did as well, which made his thoughts of betrayal and treachery on Jack's part all the more devastating. He would have to crush these people with his bare hands, and he honestly didn't want to. He opened his mouth to speak, when he heard Kate's voice crash through the silence.

"No." Kate spoke up, her voice loud enough for all to hear. "That's not what he did."

She braced herself in front of Sayid, standing tall, her emotions competing with her effort to get through this, to tell her side, to tell her truth. "I spoke to Jack before he left. Sayid is right about one thing, Jack made a deal with Ben, to leave the Island, but he has a plan that Ben doesn't know about, a plan that involves all of us."

"Really?" Kate turned to Hurley, who wiped at his eyes. The renewed hope in his eyes brought a smile to Kate's face. If there was anyone who trusted Jack as much as she did, if not more, it was Hurley. She approached him, and brought a comforting hand to his shoulder.

"Yeah, Hurley. Really." She looked to everyone else now, their eyes following her with unbroken concentration. "Jack left to bring back rescue." She said in an exhilarating rush. Confused faces spread and settled. "Everything that we've tried to do to get off this Island so far has failed. If Jack can figure out a way to help the rescue team find us and let them know where we are, then we're home-free. It's our best chance."

Charlie shook his head, his arms crossed yet again, only this time, they would stay that way. "So, Jack just decides to leave the Island without so much as a 'See you soon' and we're supposed to believe that he's off on some mission to bring back rescue?"

Kate, taken aback by Charlie's scolding tone, bit back. "Yes, that's exactly what he's doing."

"No. I don't think so. But you want to know what I think?" Charlie turned to the group, blocking Kate's impression from influencing anyone else. "I think that Jack finally cut his losses and found the perfect opportunity to bolt, leaving us here to fend for ourselves." Charlie's words sent the group into a bonafide tailspin. Everyone was talking over one another at this point, so loudly that it was hard to hear any one person. Kate was startled, a headache brewing. She could only take so much. Battling with Sayid was one thing, but taking on the entire camp was another. She allowed the barrage to continue, rubbing circles into her temples with her fingertips, defeated and suddenly too tired to stand.

"Hey!" Everyone turned to the back of the group, following the loud growl that cut through the raucous debate. Sawyer stood dumbfounded, a backpack full of filled water bottles fell from his hand. "What the hell is goin' on here?" As the crowd shifted, Sawyer caught sight of who stood at the helm of the group. His face was awash with relief as he drunk in the view of Kate and Sayid. He approached them eagerly, moving through the canal that split the group in half.

"Sayid? Freckles? Y'all back?"

Sawyer greeted Sayid with a solid handshake and a pat on the back. He had never been happier to see him. His eyes sought Kate, meeting her gaze pointedly with a bright smile. Kate could see the happiness, the longing in his eyes, and she wished that she could work up the nerve to even pretend to express it in return, but she couldn't. Sawyer wanted to wrap her up in his arms and never let go, but he could see in her body language that she wasn't receptive to it, that it was the last thing on her mind, the furthest from her present wants and desires.

"Hey James." She said by way of greeting, with a modest smile.

Sawyer approached her, his gaze worried, but incredibly happy to see her. "Did y'all find Jack?" He turned to the group, his eyes searching. There was no sign of the Doc at all and he had a sinking feeling that the heated dispute he just stumbled upon had something to do with that. His eyes combed through the familiar faces once more, and he realized that another crucial figure was missing. He turned back to Kate, his brows raised. "Where's Locke?"

"Well, apparently Locke is dead and Jack made a deal with the people who've been trying to kill us and left us here on the Island." Charlie scoffed, catching Hurley's annoyance.

"Dude, we don't know if that's true." Hurley pointed out impatiently, ready to pummel Charlie into the sand, which wasn't in his easygoing nature at all.

Charlie looked at his best friend as if he lost half of his brain. "Hurley, he's been with those people for days. There's no telling what they did to him, whether or not they turned Jack against us." Agreement with Charlie buzzed through the group.

"I was there, Charlie, when they captured us." Hurley said, visibly shaken by the rebirth of fear and anger that rose inside of him whenever he thought about it. "They shot us with tranquilizers, threw bags over our heads, tied our hands behind our backs and held us against our will. Jack wouldn't just forget that, no matter what."

"Well, explain Michael to me then." Charlie challenged. "He definitely forgot all about what those people have put us through when it came to getting what he wanted. He lied to us, he deceived us. He left you there with those murderers without a bat of an eye. How is Jack not doing exactly the same thing?" It was a question that Hurley could not answer with certainty. He believed Kate, who had never steered the group in the wrong direction, who would never lie about something as serious and as precious to them as getting off this Island. He believed in the good in Jack, in the kindheartedness that he'd always shown him, and he always would.

"Michael lured us into a trap, Charlie. That's not what Jack is doing." Kate pointed out defensively, ready to throw a fist to Charlie's mouth if it meant that he would shut up.

Charlie raised his hands, feigning compliance with a sarcastic turn of voice. "Oh, no, you're right, excuse me. He's just abandoning us when we need him the most. The lesser of two evils, I suppose." Charlie turned his attention back to Hurley. "After everything we've been through, explain to me why Michael came back and killed two of us and set that Ben person free. He killed Libby, mate." The stain of pure agony in Hurley's eyes was hard to ignore. Charlie immediately felt guilty for reminding Hurley of his loss, for being so reckless with his words. He regrettably wished them back.

"I don't need a reminder, dude." Hurley whistled through clinched teeth, a beat away from succumbing to the urge to strangle his best friend.

"This won't solve anything!" Sayid yelled for all to hear. "Jack and Locke are gone, but we're still here. We need to figure things out for ourselves. We still have to survive on this Island and tearing each other apart doesn't help our cause. It's time that we—"

"Stop!" Kate turned on Sayid, looking at him with such fire and defiance, still willing to fight. She turned to the group, disdain written all over her face. "I'm standing here telling you that Jack is bringing back rescue, that he's coming back for us, for all of us and you don't believe him? You don't believe me?" Everyone averted Kate's gaze, finding it hard to look at her now. Her eyes sought for understanding, but found none in those that she grew to trust. She had never felt more alone and vulnerable than she had in that moment.

"What about you, Sayid?" Charlie asked. "You were there. You saw Jack before he left. Do you believe that he's coming back?" Sayid looked over at Kate, who had closed her eyes at this point, turned her head, unable to watch. Sayid would tell the truth, this she knew, and it would be the final nail in the coffin.

Sayid turned to the expectant faces, his voice stern, tight, leaving no room for emotion. "No. I do not."

What little hope that some held for Jack was crushed by his response. Heads bowed, tears fell, and hearts splintered into millions of pieces. Charlie and Claire were first to part from the gathering. Charlie watched Kate regretfully as he retreated to his tent, obviously more hurt by Jack's actions than he was angry or spiteful. Claire hugged Aaron to her chest as her tears fell down her cheeks. Hurley, truly conflicted, didn't know what to believe now that Sayid voiced his opinion, agreeing that Jack had abandoned them. He retreated, wordless. One by one, the group dispersed, until Kate was standing alone, with Sayid at one side and Sawyer at the other.

He approached her, observing the tears burning in her eyes. "I'm so sorry Kate." She ignored his apology, lost to her disappointment. She wanted to punch him in the face for feeling sorry for her, for looking at her with such pity in his eyes, and most of all, for not believing her. Sayid slowly walked away as she wiped the loose tears from her face, her frown permanent.

She soon felt Sawyer retreating from her side as well, backtracking towards his tent without a word. "James." She called without turning to him. He stopped dead in his tracks, cursing under his breath. "You don't believe me either, do you?"

He kept his back turned to her. "Can't say I do, Freckles."

Kate bristled with exasperation and shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest in her classic defensive pose. She turned to him then. "You're mad at me for going after Jack, but I'm not about to apologize for it." Of course she wasn't, Sawyer thought. This was that she did, it was what she'd always done. It was their dance, perfected. He was growing so restless with it, but there they were again, arguing about Jack, and he hadn't even been in her orbit for more than a few minutes. Some things would never change.

Sawyer's defenses went up immediately, angling towards her with force, his voice two pitches shy of a growl. "I got every reason to believe that Jack's got this hunk of rock in his rear-view, with no intentions of ever coming back. It ain't got nothin' to do with you and me."

"It has _everything_ to do with you and me." Kate argued. "We were there, they were gonna kill you and Jack saved your life, he saved _my_ life." Kate pointed towards where the group was once gathered. "They don't know that, but you do, and you're still willing to believe that he just abandoned us?"

Sawyer bowed his head. He hated feeling indebted to anyone, so he simply never acknowledged any debt that was owed, even if it was the third or fourth time the Doc had saved his hide. "I call it like I see it Freckles. Always have, and always will. You wanna believe Jack because he saved your life, then that's your business, not mine."

"That's not why I believe him." Kate shot back.

She believed him because she loved him, Sawyer thought with a pressing blow to the chest. Deep down, he knew that and would always look at her and be reminded of it. How easy it was for her to tell Jack that she couldn't leave without him, even as his life literally hung in the balance. How intimate it felt to watch her simply talk to him over a speaker, exchanging the details of a moment they shared long ago, a moment that was obviously important to her, a moment that only the two of them had partook in and realized the depths of. How thoughtless of her own safety she became, just for his, ready to barter her well being like it meant nothing to her. The recklessness of wanting to turn the canoe around, abandoning their getaway and risking another round of capture and torture still made him stew, not only because it wasn't for him, but because he knew that she didn't think twice and never would.

He looked at her pleading eyes; she wasn't ready to be alone in this. He couldn't do or say anything that would make it go away for her and that was his biggest regret. His voice was soft and comforting, but firm. "I'm sorry Kate, but the Doc left and he ain't comin' back. The sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be."

He walked off then, leaving her completely alone in the middle of the clearing. She hugged herself, suddenly cold, shivering, fighting the urge to scream at the top of her lungs. The line had been set. It was her versus them, Kate versus the world. She knew what it was like to be called a liar, to be distrusted and blamed, viewed as a murderous monster and hunted as such, she knew it all too well, but besides watching Jack leave her side, nothing was more hurtful, no cut ran deeper. She shook herself out of the pity trance she'd fallen into and uncrossed her arms from her middle, her fists clenching at her sides, a stubborn crease set into her brow.

She wouldn't cry and she wouldn't relent. She'd wait, and nothing, and no one, was going to stop her.


	8. Daddy Issues

_**Everything is moving along quite gracefully in my head, or so I tell myself. If it doesn't reflect in the story, please let me know!**_

* * *

><p>Locke stared the man down over the flaming pit of the central fire. He couldn't see past the blaze as far as he'd liked, but he made out the general sketch of his face, and it dawned on him why he was so familiar. He was the man he saw in the jungle, right before the Monster attacked him; he was the man in the hallway, the one who led him into this hidden, concealed chamber, and maybe even to these ancient ruins altogether.<p>

Locke steadied his grip on the torch. "You know my name?"

"I know a lot of things about you." Christian nodded, stoic in stature. "I know what you've done, where you've been, what you've seen and why you're here."

Locke continued to study him, fascinated and enthralled, unable to cap his inquiry. "What are you?" He asked, the light sway of his torch's flame brought a cascading gleam of light over Christian's face. He looked normal, real, but Locke had seen plenty of things on this Island that made him question the very definition of real, so he couldn't be sure. "Who are you?"

Christian scoffed, sourly disapproving of Locke's first concern. "Are you sure those are the questions that you want to ask me right now, John? How about you ask the important ones like, 'Why did the Island bring me here?'" Christian didn't give him any time to ponder, asking pointedly, "Why are you here, John?"

"I'm here," Locke took a deliberating pause, his mind made up for good, "because I'm supposed to be."

Christian smiled, satisfied, pleased. "That's exactly right."

It was the first time someone had believed him or at least confirmed his thinking, so it took Locke a second to register what he'd just heard him say. He began to let his suspicions run through him, conquering and accusing. "I saw you in the jungle, right before the Monster attacked me."

Christian sighed as if he'd just been caught in some devious plot. "I'm sorry that I couldn't intervene on your behalf."

Locke shrugged. "So, you just appear and disappear whenever you feel like it?" The question held an accusatory air that Christian caught onto quickly. The torch in Locke's hand swayed once more, catching the folds of Christian's face once more, the gray hue of his mane, the thin line of his mouth. Locke estimated that he was probably as old as he was, but he definitely beat him by a few years, a decade even. Was this another trap? Locke thought. Another bait and catch tactic orchestrated by Ben? He couldn't be sure.

Amused by the question, Christian let go of what could only be considered laughter. "It's more of a pattern than it is a random occurrence. I did lead you here, didn't I? You've been camping out in the jungle for a few days now, thinking and pondering about where to go next. I thought that you needed a little…_push_. Do you not like what you see?"

All Locke saw were ancient carvings of the Smoke Monster scattered everywhere and a mysterious lever that had been tampered with, days, maybe even hours before. He didn't know what to make of anything anymore. Everything was turning against him.

"What is this place?" Locke asked

Christian raised his hands to his sides, gesturing towards the crumbling walls. "This is the Temple, the safest and most sacred place on the Island. It's protected by powers stronger than you can ever imagine." He noticed Locke's captivation with the carvings. His lack of hesitance at this discovery proved positive. "The _Monster_ is what you called it, right? It has terrorized the people of this Island for years, dating back to its first inhabitants. The chamber below is where it's kept, where it resides when it's not out there, doing what it does best, evoking fear. This chamber here is where people come to learn of its history, so the past doesn't repeat itself." Christian looked over to the far wall and back. "Sadly, it always does."

Locke could tell that this chamber was utilized by different groups from different times from the engravings, all varying in age and penmanship. He was pretty sure that Christian hadn't led him here to lecture him on what the carvings were pretty pointed about depicting, that the Smoke Monster was both inconceivably powerful and incredibly dangerous. This meeting was about something else entirely, and if not, the effort to bring him here, the fact that he should probably be dead but wasn't, was enough to convince Locke that there was far more to be afraid of than the Smoke Monster.

"What do you want from me?"

Ah, there it was, Christian thought with a cocky smile. Locke wasn't a man that beat around the bush. He liked him already. "Your help." Locke narrowed his eyes warily. "It's the Island, John. The Island is in trouble."

Christian saw the graveness reach John's eyes, taking hold instantaneously. Everything about his posture tightened, his breathing now shallow. He could see that he cared more about the Island than anything else, because as Christian knew, the man had nothing else. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Something was happening, or, in more accurate terms, in the _process_ of happening. Then it just…stopped. That's never happened before." Christian said. "I need you to help me fix this. You're the only one who can."

What process? What has never stopped happening, but suddenly has? Why was Christian speaking so vaguely? How could he help if he had no idea what was going on, or what _wasn't_ going on? These questions rammed into each other in Locke's head. He was confused, scared, not for himself, but for the Island. He was all ears now.

"What do you want me to do?"

Christian brought his hands together, his fingers intertwining. "It's what _Jacob_ needs you to do."

"Who is Jacob?" Locke asked, the obvious next question.

Christian took a steely pause. "He protects the Island. He has for a very, _very_ long time. He brings people here, to test them, to see if they're able to perform what he requires." He angled his gaze, watching for Locke's reaction at what he would admit next. "He brought _your_ plane to this Island, John. This was no coincidence, and he did so in hopes of finding what he has so desperately searched for." Locke's face was nothing short of hopeful and excited, but still unrelentingly confused. "But something, or some_one_ rather, doesn't want that to happen at all."

Who could possibly hold such a seething vengeance towards the Island? Locke thought to himself. What terribly evil and demented soul could possibly do this with nothing more than a smile on his face? The answer was clearer than the sky blue.

"Ben." Locke thought, answering his wandering questions, but soon realized that he not only thought this suspicion, but vocalized it as well.

"Yes." Christian shook his head in the affirmative. "He's crossed a line that he can never uncross. He's made a decision that ties Jacob's hands, which puts the Island at great risk."

That slimy little bastard, Locke thought. He lied straight to his face, told him that it was all in his head, and actually had the nerve to ask him to join his side. Now it all made sense why he would, to control and manipulate the situation in his favor, to stop him from finding out the real truth. Locke, more eager than ever to snap Ben's neck in half, spoke. "What did he do?"

"Jacob trusted Ben with a very important task, a task that he's performed for many years, but he's recently stopped, with no warning or justification. He is no longer someone that Jacob can rely on, that he can trust." Christian sighed, as if suddenly fatigued by the conversation. "Ben knows too much about the inner workings of the Island, which unnerves Jacob immensely, because he can use them to his advantage. We don't know what he plans to do next, but we do believe that he knows exactly what his decision has done and will do."

The wandering devastation on Locke's face set into his still and violent perplexity. Christian thought it wise to make Ben's deceit more obvious to the naked eye. "He's out to destroy everything that Jacob holds dear, John, and at the top of that list is the Island."

Locke's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and the room was suddenly spinning. "What does Jacob need me to do?" He asked eagerly, with wide and gazing eyes. "How do I save the Island?"

"He needs you to protect my son." Christian explained. "No matter how hard he fights you, no matter how hard he resists, and he will, you have to be the one to help him see it, when the time comes. He's gonna need you, John."

He? Help him see it? There were more questions than answers, Locke thought as he spoke. "Wait. What? Your _son_? I don't…" His voice trailed away as he stared at the man closely. The features of his face, especially the ridged bend of his brows, the pointedness of his nose and the outline of his mouth were of shapes and contours he'd seen before, but couldn't place, until it finally caught up with him.

Locke's eyes rounded. "_Jack_?" He asked in complete astonishment. "Jack is your son?"

Christian nodded, a surreptitious sparkle caught flame in his eyes. "Yes, he is. The Island has finally made a choice and you have to make sure that Jack makes the right one as well."

What choice? Locke asked himself. He knew that the Island had brought him here for a reason, Jack as well, but this information was beyond alarming. More pressingly, Jack was gone. He wasn't on the Island anymore, and the last time Locke checked, he didn't want to be. How could he protect someone that wasn't here to protect?

Locke began to panic, bile rising to his throat. "Jack isn't even here. He left days ago. How do I get him to come back?"

Christian's voice grew louder, his impatience with Locke's never-ending sea of questions was obvious. "Getting Jack back to the Island is not your focus, John. He's exactly where he needs to be right now and he'll come back when he's ready."

He cleared his throat, his voice now a respectable volume, cool and calm. "As of right now, your focus is Benjamin, in what his next move will be, what he's planning, because Jacob knows that he has a plan. He always has a plan." He knew it. Ben orchestrated this entire production and had gotten rid of Jack for his own advances, for his own gain, but what did the gain entitle him to? What was he trying to do? What goal was he vying to achieve?

Locke felt more helpless than ever. He couldn't possibly go back to the barracks and spy on Ben. If he knew him like he thought he did, he probably had every single inch of the community guarded, or under strict and heavily-monitored surveillance, especially after how relatively open their borders were, inviting three outsiders in to disturb the peace. If he came within twenty feet of that compound, he'd be killed, and it would delight Ben more than what he believed he'd gotten away with. What good would he be to Jacob's cause if he was dead?

Locke had to be careful, inventive; he had to come up with a way to keep his distance, but get in Ben's head at the same time, and beat him at his own perfected game. He didn't have one single clue what to do about Jack. Their last conversation suddenly came back to haunt him. It hadn't begun well and it hadn't ended well either, Jack's head seconds from popping in his fit of rage. It was a blasted failure, if he was being completely honest. He couldn't bear a repeat if saving the Island depended on it. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"I can't do this." Locke admitted nervously. "I couldn't convince Jack to stay. I tried, I told him that he was brought here for a reason, but he left anyways." Locke shook his head, both in denial and as an attempt to clear it. "He won't listen to me. Whatever Jacob needs from him, he won't believe it coming from me. I can't get through to him. He doesn't trust me."

Christian almost felt sorry for John, his sympathy was rising, but it fell short of showing. "My son is a very stubborn man, John, this I know, but he's not without perspective." He defended. "One of the reasons why Jack decided to leave is because you _told_ him he had to stay. It's incredibly hard for him to sit around and listen to people tell him what he should do, which is why you have to wait for him to come to this conclusion himself. It's the only way it'll work."

What if Jack never came to the conclusion that he needed to come to in time? What if he was settling back into his old life, ready and prepared to leave the Island behind for good? "What makes you think that I'm the person that can help Jack at all?" Locke asked.

"Because you already have." Christian assured him. "You were the one who saved his life on that cliff, you were the one who helped him step up and realize that he's a natural-born leader, you helped him see what the people needed him to do and he did it. You've helped my son far more than you give yourself credit for, John. You can do it again."

Locke still wasn't convinced. "Why can't you do this? You're his father. He'll listen to you."

"You're the only person who can see me and that's the way it has to stay. That's the way Jacob wants it." Christian confessed. "Besides, even if I could talk to my son one last time, he wouldn't want to hear anything I had to say."

Locke noticed the chronic sadness in his voice, the pain in his eyes, and it made him wonder about the details of their last moments together. Locke finally saw Christian not only as this mysterious visage that led him here, that told him things he thought he'd never know, but also as a protective father who loved his son with everything imaginable. He didn't know what Jack would want to hear, Locke thought sadly. He was just making a passable excuse so as not to at the very least try. Locke finally saw where Jack inherited his patented stubbornness.

"What'll happen if Ben finds out that Jack is back on the Island?" Locke asked.

"He'll try to kill him, but you can't allow that to happen, John. Under no circumstances can my son die, because if he does, the Island dies with him." Christian stepped closer to the pit of fire at the center of the room. His figure was now awash with firelight and Locke ceased at straining to see him.

"There is a great caveat to this information, John. You can't tell anyone that I told you any of this and you can't tell anyone that you saw me. Not Jack, not anyone. Not that they'd believe you, but still, this stays between you and me, all of it. The Island's salvation depends on it. And don't forget, no matter the reason my son decides to embrace his destiny, you have to be there for him when he does." Christian was adamant about this; he knew that Jack would never conceive it or concede to it if it wasn't his decision to do so. "He can't do this alone. He'll want to, but he can't."

Christian extended a curt nod and motioned towards the chamber's opening, intent to leave. Desperate to stop him, Locke spoke up.

"Wait." Christian stopped, his body turned back to the firelight, staring back at Locke, who seemed more settled with the information, the mission he'd been burdened with, chosen for.

"Out of everyone that Jacob has brought to this Island, why Jack?"

Christian looked to the ground, his head hung, a smile ghosting across his face. Before Locke could fully grasp it, it was gone. He met Locke's gaze one last time.

"Because he has what it takes," he declared, his tone ringing with pride, "he just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

><p>The entrance was tougher to get to than Locke had anticipated, but he finally found a cobble-stoned door that led to the outside of the Temple, into the courtyard. He walked the full mile until he reached the tall barrier wall that enclosed the Temple from outside intrusion. He found the door, which had been locked and chained from the inside, hence his inability to open it when he was on the other side of the wall. Using the blade of his knife, Locke cracked the old, rusty lock's link in half, sending it crumbling to the ground. The chains followed suit, unraveling themselves from the door's knob and hinges. He finally pried the door open, grunting with the effort it took to get it to move in his favor. It was obvious that it had been locked and sealed for many years, the sandstone material crumbling, even at the slightest movement.<p>

The door was cracked just enough for Locke to slide out, meeting the bright, almost blinding glow of the jungle. He tried to find some kind of trail, maybe even the path left behind from the Smoke Monster's attack on him, but everything looked just as it was supposed to, undisturbed. The last thing he remembered was being dragged through the grass, his ankles locked by the Monster's strong grab, so there had to have been a trail that would lead him back to where he was taken. There had to be.

Someone was following him and they weren't doing a good job of it, he noticed. He realized the signs from the moment he parted from the Temple, but he just kept walking, not willing to make the first move. He heard shuffling behind him, deep in the trees. He turned; nothing was there, nothing but open space and wide leaves, dangling from loose branches. He kept his feet moving, and finally came to a stop, bending to his knee to inspect a worn path in the grass with the blade of his hunting knife. He decided to follow it. It was his best lead to get back to his abandoned camp, back to his food and water, and his pack.

"I know you're there!" He shouted, placing his knife back into its appropriate casing at his waist, straightening to stand. "You might as well show yourself."

He eventually heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and judging from the slight sound they made, this person wasn't particularly threatening or menacing. He turned to watch as she stepped out from behind a bed of bushels with her hands up in the air, scared and completely out of her element, all five-foot two inches of her. Her hair was a ratty mess, loose dark curls frizzed, in desperate need of combing. Her clothes looked relatively clean, but soiled slightly, the strap of her bag dug into her left shoulder. She hadn't been out here long, Locke decided. A day, maybe less, maybe a little more. Her doe-brown eyes pleaded for her life. She looked on the verge of tears, shaking like a leaf blown violently in the torrential winds.

Locke immediately recognized her as the young girl from the docks, who stopped him from getting killed, her ill-paced curiosity working to his benefit. What was her name again? Anna? Allie? That didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. She was Ben's daughter, and she was in the jungle, alone. What was she doing out here, and why was she following him like a homesick puppy?

"Don't shoot, please." Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. He could see her hands and arms quaking, struggling to stay upright.

She must have seen the gun that was tucked into his pants at the swell of his lower back. She saw a lot of things, he recalled, that fight on the docks to be specific. He spoke calmly, softly, hoping to make her feel at ease. "You can put your hands down. I have no intention of shooting you." He offered. She eventually, reluctantly put her hands down, her eyes still wide with fear.

"You're Ben's kid aren't you?"

She tearfully nodded, then wiped at her cheeks. She was so small, seeping fragility, but there was an edge about her that he noticed on the docks, a toughness that she wanted to prove to her father. What was he supposed to do with her now? She was literally miles away from her own camp, and the sun would soon set, pitching the jungle into complete darkness. He couldn't leave her out here all by herself and he needed to find his camp before nightfall, or they were both in serious trouble.

"Come on." Locke sighed. "It's about to be dark soon, and I need to find my camp." She looked at him with gleeful surprise and walked up to him, suddenly not afraid for her life anymore. Locke began to beat the trail that he found, and she followed close behind, a far enough distance so as not to disturb his concentration, but close enough not to lose him in the maze of impending shadows.

Locke eventually found his camp, just as he remembered it. He gathered some dry brush and added it to the fusing fire, its flames nearly burning away. He gathered some slices of pork meat from the boar and offered them to the young girl. She was shy about taking it at first, but once she heard and felt the rumble of her stomach, she ate at it ravenously. To say that she was starving would be a gross understatement. How did she expect to survive out here without any food, or at the very least the ability to hunt small game, like rabbit and squirrel? Locke asked himself. She had no idea what she'd gotten herself into, which was why Locke had to look out for her, at least for tonight, and then, she'd have to go back home, where she belonged. There was no place in his plans for an impressionable teenage girl, who looked at him like he was some savior, a father figure even. She would only get in his way and cause the tension between him and Ben to rise to an innumerable boiling point, and after what he just heard from Christian, the tension couldn't get any thicker.

Nightfall finally arrived. The fire was an adequate source of light, the small circle of their little camp illuminated. The young girl still ate her food. For someone so petite, she could definitely pack it away.

"What's your name?" Locke asked.

Her mouth was still was full of food, but she spoke over it, her voice garbled and slurred. "Alex."

"Ah, right." Locke said, nodding his head. "What are you doing out here, Alex?"

She swallowed, her voice low. "Following you."

Locke chuckled. "Well, obviously." He looked at her closely, the blanket he fitted over her shoulders moments ago falling on one side. "_Why_ were you following me?"

"Because…I…I…," she hesitated, choosing her words a little more carefully after swallowing another large bite, "I thought I could go with you."

"Go with me where?" He pushed.

She was shy now, her cheeks blushing, her eyes captivated by the fire. "Back to your camp, to your people. The plane crash survivors." It dawned on Locke just then what this girl had planned in her head. She left everything she ever knew behind to _live_ with him and the group at the beach, and she had no intention of going back.

"You ran away from home?" Locke asked, surprised at not only her guts, but her determination. She nodded shyly, and went back to tending to her food. She was miles away from the Others' compound, a day's trek at the most, Locke thought. Had she left soon after Ben and Richard released him? What was she running from? What was so terrible about her life that she felt the need to escape?

Locke shook his head at her, disapprovingly. "This Island isn't as big as you think it is, Alex. Ben will find you. He's probably worried sick about you."

Alex shrugged, not in the least bit interested in her father's concern for her. She didn't even want to hear his name. "You shouldn't be anywhere near those temples, you know." She changed the topic, completely determined to avoid the subject now that she was certain Locke disagreed.

He cocked his head to the side, an adoring, '_oh really?_' smile lit his face. What a piece of work she was, he thought. Here she was, running away from the safety and familiarity of her home into the deadly labyrinth of the jungle and she had the nerve to tell him what he shouldn't be doing. "And why is that?"

"They're dangerous." Alex said in a matter-of-fact tone. "My dad says that it's what the ancient inhabitants called 'dark territory' and that none of our people should go there, ever, no matter what." Of course he would do that, Locke thought. It was classic Ben to protect his own evil dealings by claiming that the Temple was dangerous or threatening in any way. He had to admit, the place possessed an eerie quality that he could never quite put his finger on.

"I'm not one of his people," Locke pointed out, "so I'm pretty much able to do what I want." He swallowed a sip of water from his water bottle. "And I wasn't looking for the Temple. I didn't even know that it existed until a few hours ago." He looked out into the dark matter that surrounded them, the remote banks in the distance with a thought that he hadn't considered until now. He smiled. It felt right, the words rang true. "_It_ found _me_."

"How did that happen?" She asked, sitting up a little straighter; her eyes opened a little wider. She was definitely intrigued by the epic adventures of one John Locke. He rather enjoyed her attentiveness, her curiosity, but he made sure not to get used to it.

He absentmindedly rubbed at the back of his head, unsure of how to answer her question. "I was attacked by the Smoke Monster." He admitted, watching the full-on terror play on Alex's face. "It led me there."

"And it didn't kill you." Alex pointed out, her perplexed expression lasting. She'd only eavesdropped on conversations about the Smoke Monster growing up, the adults around her simply terrified by the dark creature, sharing gossip about its omnipotence. For as long as she knew about the Smoke Monster, for as long as it terrified her, and haunted her dreams, her father told her that she would always be safe from its deathly grasp, that protecting her was the most important job he'll ever have in his entire life. Suddenly, Alex felt guilty for leaving, but it soon passed when she reminded herself that she was ultimately doing what was best.

Locke shook his head. "No."

"Why?" Alex asked.

He hadn't thought his response though, so he said the first thing that came to his mind, the truth. "Because Jacob needs me to do something that's pretty important." Locke silently cursed himself once the beans were spilled. He wasn't supposed to say anything, but in his moment of internal scolding, he was caught off guard by the recognition that lit Alex's face at the mention of the name Jacob.

He almost stopped himself from asking, but his mouth had a mind of its own. "Do you know who that is?"

Alex shook her head, suddenly unaffected by the name, as if they were talking about some random villager that didn't matter one way or the other. "No, but I hear my dad talking about him all the time, with Richard." She revealed nonchalantly, taking a drink from her water bottle.

Locke looked to the ground, his mind reeling with this new information. The night that he, Kate and Sayid invaded the Others' compound, Richard was pacing in Ben's direction with that note, the same note that Ben never allowed Richard to explain, he remembered. If they conversed about Jacob regularly, there was a good chance that the reason Richard was there that night was because of the Island, and most revealingly, because of Jacob. Who was Richard to Jacob? He thought. Was he a partner, a consultant, a representative perhaps? If Richard was the link between Jacob and Ben, that would imply that Ben wasn't as powerful as he led others to believe. It made sense with what Christian confessed about Ben's motives, why his decisions about the Island have turned against Jacob's wishes.

Alex's voice brought him back to the present, following up with her admission. "I eavesdrop a lot." She confessed with a smile. It was the only way she found out about anything her father tried to protect her from. "He hasn't said much about him lately though."

Because Jacob couldn't trust him, Locke wanted to admit to her, but he bit his tongue, hard. He'd already revealed too much, and hopefully, she wouldn't speak what he told her to anyone else. She was oblivious enough, which meant that Ben had definitely kept her out of his affairs as they pertained to the Island. He decided to change the subject, focus on her reasons for being so far away from home, but his mind was still cornered on thoughts of Ben, Richard and Jacob.

"Why did you run away?"

Alex scoffed. "Are you kidding me? Do you even have to ask? You've met my dad. He tried to kill you, and besides, he's a complete asshole. He never lets me do what I want to do. There's this guy that I like, his name is Karl and I can never get to see him, because my dad thinks that he's trouble. It's so infuriating." She rambled on, Locke suddenly rolling his eyes into the back of his head. She had no idea why she was telling this to Locke instead of her own father, but she found it easier to talk to him. He didn't judge, he barely flinched. He just listened.

Her tone veered from annoyed to sad. "Sometimes, I don't even think I'm his kid at all."

There was a long pause before Locke spoke. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen and a half." She said with confidence. He smiled.

"When I was your age, I was living in an orphanage. Do you know what an orphanage is?" Alex nodded sadly. "I've jumped around from house to house my entire life. In the foster care system, once you get older, you're passed over for the babies, because they're cuter and softer, but mostly because they don't know that they were left behind by those who loved them or abandoned by people who were supposed to. They have no memories of ever belonging to someone, somewhere. They're still impressionable, clueless. The older kids are hardened by feelings of loneliness, even guilt, because they don't feel like they're good enough for anyone, not even their real parents. Their worth is steadily tied up in who cares to notice them." It was an emotional trap that never produced a happy ending.

Alex watched the blankness take hold in his eyes. It was like he was completely detached from the sad story he was telling her. "I didn't know who my mother was until I was thirty-nine years old, and a few years later, I met my father for the first time." Locke soon realized that he had fallen into that trap decades after he was old enough to break free of the foster care system. His father's love and attention was what he wanted most in the world, and he didn't know what to do without it. He became visibly emotional then, tears stinging his eyes. He covered his mouth with one, shaky hand, and then quickly lowered it back to his lap.

"You're lucky, Alex. You don't see it, you don't even feel it, but you're lucky to have a father, to have someone who raised you, who knows you and who wants the absolute best in this world for you. That's not easy to come by." Locke looked into the young girl's eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you come with me. You can stay here for the night, but by morning, you need to go back to where you belong."

Alex shot up, her fists clenched at her sides. "What? You're gonna send me back there? Why? You hate him as much as I do!" Her voice rose in anger and disappointment. The whiny tinge of it sent Locke's nerves into a mad dash, like nails on a chalkboard always had. Why were teenagers so fueled by their own feelings? Locke thought. Why couldn't she see that he wasn't what she needed, that he couldn't provide the freedom that she so desperately yearned for?

Locke looked up at her, nodding his head. "You're right, Alex. You're absolutely right. I hate him. I hate Ben, and nothing will ever change that, but I don't have the right to take you away from him. I have nothing to offer you. I'm on a path that will most likely get you hurt, or worse, killed."

He couldn't take that chance again. Boone's death was still an event that Locke deemed preventable, but because he pushed, because he had no foresight to what the consequences could be, he was dead, and dead was dead. There was no coming back from that. He believed that Boone's death was a sacrifice that the Island demanded, but he wasn't so sure about that anymore. If his death showed him anything, it showed him that he had to do what he had to do, alone. He didn't want to be responsible for another innocent life being taken away.

"But most of all, you can't come with me because you're the one person that Ben cares about more than himself." He didn't know why he cared about that bastard and taking something away from him that meant a great deal, because if the tables were turned, Ben wouldn't hesitate to destroy him with taking away everything he loved, and he was already intent on doing just that, with the Island. Whatever he was planning, he would fight dirty, that was what made them different, Locke supposed. He wanted to fight fair, even against the most deceptive of opponents.

He turned away from her. "You should get some sleep. It'll be morning soon enough."

He heard her sniffle and wipe at her face. "He would have killed you, you know?" She said, in a last ditch effort to persuade him to keep her, to let her stay. "If I hadn't shown up when I did, he would have had Pryce shoot you dead and he wouldn't have cared one bit."

"I know." Locke admitted. "But Ben has yet to realize one very important fact," he turned back to her, "he should have killed me when he had the chance."

* * *

><p>The beach was quiet now, empty; everyone had retreated to their tents for the night, except for Kate, who sat in the sand, in front of a small fire, with a blanket covering her shoulders and arms. She held a stick in one hand, absentmindedly poking at the fire's pit, watching the random sparks sizzle and blink while her other was curled into a fist under her jaw, her head propped as her eyes lazily swarmed the flickering flames. She had been sitting there for hours, alone, with thoughts running through her mind at warp speed.<p>

It never crossed her mind that her friends would react this way, that they would be so easily swayed and so effortlessly convinced that Jack had left them behind with the intent to never return. She tried to put herself in their shoes, but she couldn't, experience and faith just wouldn't allow it. Sayid was no surprise. Neither was Sawyer, because he couldn't stop moping long enough to see the bigger picture. Charlie was the one who had hit the hardest, and she was still recovering. Who knew that he could be so cruel and unreasonable? The Charlie that she knew was neither, but she reminded herself that when people were hurt, and felt betrayed, they were bound to act out, to believe anything, even if it wasn't the whole truth. It was a tried and true coping mechanism.

She looked over her shoulder, down the beach, her eyes filling with the view of Jack's old tent, empty and dark like the gaping hole he'd left in her life. It was collapsing on one side, no one bothering to maintain its upkeep, and now it was so obvious why. It sat there reminding of her of where he was, and the distance that expanded between them. She unraveled her fingers from underneath her jaw and looked down, his watch sat in her palm, gleaming in the firelight. Her lips curled up into a small smile.

In that instant, she felt this jab pierce through her, twisting like the blade a knife, cold and stinging. She gasped at its intensity, dropping the thin twig from her fingers and griping the cloth of her shirt that lay over her heart into a tight fist. She closed her eyes and breathed through the disturbing sensations. What the hell was that? She thought worriedly. The jolt soon bled into a constant throb, her temples now burning with the signs of a headache. She was tired, that was all. Tired and irritable, and disappointed, an entire range of emotions that she couldn't keep up with were raging against her now, catching up to her all at once. That was what this was, or was it?

Something wasn't right about being back here, she noted. She was definitely happy about seeing her friends again, and indulged in the love they poured into her, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't stronger than what she felt now, this eerie humming that rang in her ears. How could she feel comfortable here, where everyone looked at her differently now, as the girl who trusted blindly and stupidly, hanging on Jack's every word, the word that he always kept, the word he was still keeping to all of them? But that wasn't it, this uncomfortable aura wasn't external, it wasn't about the people around her, this was internal, intuitive. Being back here actually filled her with more anxiety than she felt when she started on her trek back towards the Others, with no real directional cues, her heart beating faster and faster as the days wore on. Now, her heart was beating at an inhumane pace, drumming with the fluttering in her head, a rhythm now set into motion with no intention of slowing down. She rose on wobbly legs, and stumbled to her tent.

Once inside, she collapsed onto the sand pavement, her fist still clutching her shirt. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them to her, staring into the darkness of her tent with confused, hazy eyes. When the sensations bubbling through her system kept hold, she forced her eyes closed and gripped her head in her hands. She groaned, combing her fingers through her curls and stopping at the back of her neck, holding there, massaging.

She opened her eyes, her vision blurred. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kate?" She asked herself in a whisper.

The throbbing persisted while she breathed through it, hoping for some relief in the form of aspirin, which she had hidden under the platform of her makeshift cot. Jack had given them to her after she playfully complained of cramping one afternoon while visiting him in the hatch, an embarrassing admission that only made him smile at her, that knee-buckling smile that made her forget what they were talking about. He was a doctor after all, so he wasn't embarrassed about the topic, the natural bodily function that all women faced, but she, on the other hand, didn't want him to think of her in the clinical nature that he had everyone else, she wanted to be seen differently, as soft and sensual, not another person he felt obligated to take care of.

Two tablets every six hours, he'd told her with a cynical smile, very privy to the fact that she very rarely listened to his directions, medical or otherwise. She smiled back, fully aware of what his smile meant, but unwilling to entertain it. Then, there was a break, before he handed the bottle to her and before she took it. Their eyes collided, in a way that spoke more than words could, in that way that always made her feel like she had been backed into a corner, and she had no desire to push her way through. She invited the thrill of falling into his gaze, until she realized the risks she was taking, the feelings he would discover, and once he caught hold to something, he wasn't going to let go. He was a master at poking and prodding her inner most secrets. He could get it all out of her if he wanted to, which scared her more than anything. So, she looked away with the clearing of her throat, her face suddenly on fire, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She hurriedly muttered her thanks and went on her way, before she could hear him say anything in return.

She chuckled, she actually laughed, because her longing now ran so incredibly deep, that a simple, plastic pill bottle could rouse memories, moments that were so small, passable even, but meaningful. Her laughter quickly brought tears to her eyes. Would _everything_ remind her of him? She thought. If it did, waiting for him to come back would definitely count as her own personal hell.

With the urge to sleep and her body's sudden refusal to cooperate, she twisted the top of the prescription bottle and poured two pills into her palm. Taking the canteen from her pack, she tilted her head, placing her palm over her mouth, swallowing the pills with a slush of warm water. She pulled herself into bed, untangling the blanket from around her waist and covering herself with it. The watch sat in her hand again; she was unwilling to part with it, for reasons that were obvious, and for reasons that would make this personal hell burn her alive if she let it.


	9. Left Behind

She walked through the high grass with attentive purpose, bending in moments of suspicion, checking the folds of broken twigs for fresh tracks, but finding none, each one she did find was old and fading. She'd been at it for hours, trekking through the jungle with no real intended path in mind, falling into a pattern of instinct that she wasn't sure how to hone and direct. The sun set high in the sky at this point, her back soaked with sweat under the bulge of her backpack, which was full with supplies for her day's trip. She continued to move, the crunch of plant life under her hiking boots the only sound she heard. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, which made her face blush with frustration.

She felt the itch to explore the second she woke up in her tent three weeks ago, the aspirin she'd taken numbing her senses just enough for her to close her eyes and succumb to her fatigue, but that trick wasn't a permanent fix, far from it. She barely got more than a few hours of sleep a night, and her stomach was so tied up in knots, even the smell of frying fish was less than appealing. No one spoke to her, besides a pleasant 'hello' and 'good morning'; they barely made eye contact with her. In the beginning, it stung, but once she realized that she'd done all she could do with what she had to give, she let it go, everyone kept their distance, and so did she. She wasn't even sure she cared anymore what they thought, not even giving any one a heads up that she would lose herself in the jungle every day, ironically, in hopes of finding herself again. She yearned for something, but it wasn't on the beach, it wasn't here either. It was someplace deep in the jungle, unguarded and uncharted. She had to find it.

She suddenly stopped mid-stride. Her head turned slowly, surveying her surroundings with a keen eye for the tiniest of detail. She felt something off-putting in this space, like an invisible entity was pushing her to move forward. She started to run, slowly jogging at first and then quickening her pace. Her heart pumped to the rhythm of her feet crashing into the ground with every hastened glide. She ran so far, so fast, her legs felt like they had been soaked in kerosene and set ablaze. Her hastiness led to her tripping, falling dangerously down an incline of grass, barbs of its prickling blades and bumps of sharp rocks cutting at her as she tumbled to the bottom of the hill. She rolled to a complete stop, lying still for moments too long, motionless. She eventually stirred, groaning loudly and painfully at the aches that burned all over. She felt like she'd been hit and ran over by a truck.

She pushed herself up from her stomach with a grunt, folding into a seated position. She assessed her head, legs, and then her arms, hissing as her dirty fingers moved over a seeping scrape on the underside of her right forearm. Her skin there was spattered with blood, making it hard for her to judge the depth of the wound. All she knew was that it hurt and stung like hell, and would only hurt and sting more when she cleaned it. It could easily get infected if she didn't turn now to head back to the beach. She cupped her head into her hands, staying in that position for what felt like an eternity, letting the tears fall, her sobs gut-wrenching. She gave herself a second to catch her breath after the flood of sadness ran its course, to wipe at the tears on her cheeks, and to wonder about what the hell she was doing.

She swore under her breath. "Damnit." She placed her hand over the gushing graze. She wasn't ready to go back, but she couldn't find the energy to keep going, not today at least. She was angry now, as she always was when she felt like giving up. She was tired of being dooped, whatever this game was, she was tired of playing, but she couldn't stop now.

She was almost there.

She could feel it. She could feel everything and it was driving her insane.

* * *

><p>The camp was winding down with the inevitably of sunset. Charlie stood on the beach, watching the waves of the ocean crash into the shore and retread. He turned back to the treeline, his gaze falling on Claire and Aaron, watching their interaction with a smile. In his rapture, Charlie caught a glimpse of Hurley walking past the moment between mother and son, travelling down the beach with his usual wide gait.<p>

"Hey! Hurley!" Charlie yelled, racing down the beach to catch up to his friend, or whatever was left of their relationship. "Wait up!"

Hurley stopped in his tracks, mentally cursing himself for being spotted. He was actively avoiding Charlie, which was pretty hard to do, but he made the effort. The awkwardness, the tension between them ever since Kate and Sayid came back wasn't resolved and he had no idea what to do about it. What Charlie said, not only about Jack, but about Libby, stung and hadn't stopped stinging. He was never one to hold a grudge for too long, his heart so full of forgiveness, but this for some reason, was unforgivable, at least right now.

Hurley turned to him, forcing a smile. "Hey."

"So, uh, what are you up to?" Charlie asked, desperate to hang out with him, to get more than three words out of him.

Hurley hesitated, thought through his answer before giving it. "Uh…nothing much. Just about to go…uh, do something that's really…nothing." Hurley faltered awkwardly, watching the look of exasperation flood Charlie's face. He still hadn't been forgiven, and it was breaking his heart.

"See ya around." Hurley rushed to leave.

"Hurley, wait!" Charlie shouted, obviously irritated and at his wits' end. He stepped up to him, his eyes pleading "You've been dodging me for weeks. I know you're still mad at me, but I've apologized for what I said. I just…I miss my best friend." Charlie moved closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just, forgive me, mate."

Charlie could see that Hurley was relenting a little, his eyes falling to the sand, but then steely resolve reawakened, reminding him that Charlie had truly hurt him and that apologizing wasn't going to fix this. He wasn't sure what would. "Look, dude, I get that you're trying to like, make up with me or whatever, but I'm just not interested. At least not right now. I'm sorry."

Charlie hung his head as he watched Hurley retreat and move farther and farther away. With each step, his hope that tomorrow would be the day that he forgave him was quickly fading. He shook off another bout of disappointment and walked towards Claire, who had just finished changing Aaron's diaper and lowered him into his crib for bed. She looked up once she felt Charlie next to her. She took his hand as he sat down next to her.

"Still no luck with Hurley, huh?" Claire asked sadly, tucking Aaron's blanket around him.

Charlie sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with his fingertips. "I screwed up, royally. Mentioning Libby was just a really bad call."

Claire scoffed. "What you said about Jack didn't help matters either, you know." She reminded him. It was a conversation they had avoided, the topic of Jack and rescue. "He believes that he'll come back for us, whether he's said so or not."

"Well, at least I'm trying to talk to him. You've been working up the courage to talk to Kate for weeks now, and the last time I checked, you haven't." Charlie argued.

"She leaves the beach every day, for hours. I haven't found the opportunity. Plus, I...just don't know what to say, you know?" Claire admitted. "I should have been there for her, but...," she stammered, unsure of how to phrase her thoughts, "I don't know what to believe and I don't think that's what she wants to hear."

She looked up at him. The sadness in Claire's eyes mirrored his own, Charlie thought. They were losing their best friends and they weren't sure how to go about getting them back. He brought his arm around her, both watching Aaron squirm about in his crib.

Kate approached the beach, returning hours before sunset. The shimmering water of the ocean in the distance caught her eye. Its tranquil waves sung a song of contentment, of calm seas and cool winds. She used to look at the ocean blue as a barrier, a body of obstacles that kept her from the world she once knew, but she often wondered what she was such in a rush to get back to.

There was nothing there for her, but a cold cell, standing with walls of concrete and steel bars, keeping her from such a freedom that she experienced here, on this Island. It was such an incongruous dilemma she had to consider. What Jack was doing, what he was trying to achieve, rescue, was actually no rescue for her at all, it was the first step towards the arrival of a destiny that she tried so hard to avoid. The last three years of her life was on the road, the unglamorous, dingy impersonality of motel rooms and pick-up trucks of strangers that took pity on a pretty hitch-hiker, who was looking to run as far as she could. But now, she was surrounded by nature at its most elegant. It was sometimes hard for her to find the beauty of this place, like now, as her body throbbed with bruises from its jarring terrain, a place that scared more than it embraced, but the more time she spent alone in the jungle, she couldn't avoid falling in love with it on some level.

She approached a water trough that was situated in the middle of the camp, one that wasn't for drinking, and bowed into it, letting her pack fall to the sand at her feet. She unveiled her wound from a strip of tattered cloth, watching as it continued to smear with blood. She dipped a towel from the lukewarm water, rung the excess water out with a tight fist and brought it to the wound, the numbing sensation made her gasp in shock, but she wiped at the area diligently, hissing through the pain, the dingy white tank-top she wore soaked with blood where her wound pressed into it. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice she had an audience.

"Looks like it hurts." She heard a voice speak to her from nearby. Rose. She was standing in front of a clothesline that was tied between the trunks of two banyans. She was tending to laundry that was pinned to the line, drying in the sunlight. She went along with unlatching the pins that held the garments to the string, then folded them one by one and placed them in a basket that sat at her feet

Kate shrugged with a forced grin. Even though Rose was right, her injury left the station of hurt long ago and was approaching blindingly painful, debilitating, she wouldn't admit it. She could barely think past the pain of it.

"No, it's fine," she winced, "I just need to clean it, wrap it up and wait for it to heal."

Rose always believed that Kate tried too hard to fit in, overcompensated with everyone she met, always offering to help, but never asking for help, but now she was just more determined than ever to distance herself, her independent attitude escalating, expanding to epic proportions. It was obvious that she wasn't comfortable here anymore, coming back after her long days away because this was where all familiar things were, except Jack. She presumed that without him, she felt even more out of place. Lost.

Rose stepped closer, assessing what she could of the jagged gash that tore itself into Kate's pale flesh. "I don't think that's a simple scrape that will heal as easy as you think." She was walking over to Kate now and gently grabbed the towel from her hand, tenderness seeping from her eyes. This poor girl needed some tender, loving care, Rose thought, and she was more than happy to offer it. "Here, let me help you. Come, sit."

She moved towards a nearby vacant tent, but Kate refused. "Rose, I can get it, really, I—"

"Katherine Austen, get over here." Rose bit back, her tone signaled finality, and Kate knew when to fold. There weren't many people that she could say that she was somewhat afraid of. Ben Linus? A little bit. His death threat still rattled her, but Rose Nadler was sometimes the scariest, but in a gentle, soothing kind of way in moments like these, when tough love was the cure. Kate conceded and walked to where Rose stood and sat where she pointed.

"Wait here." Rose disappeared, and seconds later returned with a fresh bottle of rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs, a roll of medical gauze, gauze tape and gauze sponges.

Kate watched in awe. "Where did we get all of this?" She asked, shocked to see the supplies that sat in front of her. This definitely wasn't from the aggregate of supplies that Jack kept up with under strict inventory. Everyone was always getting banged up, and she remembered how stressed he always felt when it came to being prepared if something huge were to happen.

Rose opened the bottle and tore away the safety label. "It dropped from the sky. Literally. These care packages keep coming, and they literally parachute onto the Island. One every few weeks. This last one was full of medical supplies. Bandages, scalpels, even Q-tips. Jack would have built himself a little infirmary with the stuff we got now." She laughed, catching the light of amusement brighten Kate's face, and then her gaze dimmed, fading into memories that never would be.

She could see Jack now, excited to organize and utilize the materials. She guessed that this recent care package was meant for the medical station she and Claire found after they tracked down Rousseau, hoping that she would lead them to a vaccine that Claire believed to be the cure for Aaron's ailments. Her thoughts were chased away by searing pain. The acerbic bite of the alcohol made her gasp loudly in distress. She would have exploded with expletives had it not been for the elder standing above her.

Rose whispered her apologies and continued to apply the antiseptic to the bubbling gap. "What were you doing out there to bang yourself up like this?" She asked, swiping at the wound with a cotton ball and reaching for the medical gauze, unraveling it. The pink swelling that surrounded the cut looked relatively normal, a common inflammatory response.

Kate opened her eyes, filmy with shunned tears, her breaths coming out in short pants. She focused her eyes towards the ground, averting Rose's scrutiny. "Nothing. I just, tripped and fell down this hill. I didn't even see it coming." She half-lied, laughing through her pain, attempting to make light of the tumble that could have been far worse that it was.

"That's kind of why we travel in packs whenever we go out there." Rose pointed out. She tended to the wound further, applying gauze sponges over it, before wrapping the gauze cloth around her arm.

"There's just something I need to do, and I need to do it alone." That was all Kate was willing to reveal of her plan, or lack thereof. She was shocked that her response didn't lead into an interrogation about where she went every single day and why she always came back looking even more banged up than when she left. Rose wasn't one to pry, but when she cared, she made an exception, and Kate could tell that she cared. She always cared, no matter how many times she screwed up, and it was becoming one of those constants in her life, something that she counted on, fell back on. She came to rely on these people, and it was the best and worst feeling imaginable.

Rose shrugged, taking her answer at face value. "Maybe you just don't want to be here," she suggested. Kate's head whirled, looking into her elder's eyes now, the accusation stinging. Rose wasn't affected by the surprise in her eyes, she merely challenged it. "Don't look at me like that. You're not happy here."

Kate didn't even try to deny it; there was a large shard of truth that hurt her to admit. These people were like family to her, and she didn't care one bit about leaving them behind every morning, and it was only out of exhaustion that she came back every night before sundown, reaching for her tent with tired arms. It wasn't who she was, to feel so detached, it never has been, even when she was on the run, but it was who she needed to be if she was ever going to do what she needed to do. She sighed, watching down the beach, the image of Claire singing to Aaron, rocking his crib while she did so made her feel guiltier for feeling so remote.

"No one believes me," she hung her head low, her curls curtaining her frown, "about Jack." There, she admitted where her unhappiness stemmed from, where the hurt still throbbed and ebbed. It was bad enough that Jack wasn't here, but this, not having anyone to talk to about her feelings, it made it worse. "After everything he's done for us, it was so easy for everyone to walk away, to believe that he would turn his back on us." She shook her head, defiant. "It's just not right."

Rose smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches on the bandages. "I believe you."

She'd said it so nonchalantly that Kate thought she hadn't said it at all. "What?" She blurted out, nearly choking. Rose said nothing, continuing to apply tape to the ends of the bandages. "Well, why didn't you say anything?" Her tone was angry, disappointed. It would have been nice to have an ally that night, she thought, when Charlie made it his business to assess a situation he knew nothing about and when Sayid, even Sawyer, neglected to back her up.

"What good would that have done?" Rose asked, tearing another piece of gauze tape from the roll. "Do you think the others would have suddenly changed their minds? The second Sayid said that Jack was gone, they were going to believe the absolute worst, no matter what." She angled her head, forcing Kate to meet her gaze. "That is, unless you're starting to believe the worst too?"

"Me? No." Kate shook her head. "I trust Jack completely. He's gonna get each and every one of us off this Island."

Rose grinned. She hadn't expected any other answer. "Good." She was done dressing Kate's wound now, laying one final piece of tape on the stretchy material, so that it wouldn't unfasten. "Do you want to know why I believe that?" Kate's eyes pleaded for an answer, her brow cocked in question. "Because Jack is a man of his word."

"You don't know this, but Jack saved my life." Rose said as she sat down next to Kate.

"He did?" She was just starting to realize how involved Jack was in the dire situation immediately after the crash. She'd only just discovered from Locke that he pulled people out of burning airplane wreckage, now she knew that he was the one who saved Rose's life. There was no telling how many people in this camp were alive because of Jack's quick thinking and selflessness, even though he was hurt himself, a wound she was all too familiar with. She could count herself and Sawyer in that group now. This revelation made everyone's sudden turn more depressing and frustrating to her.

"Yep. We met way before that though. On the plane. He was sitting across the aisle from me and Bernard, who had drank too much during the flight and had to go to the bathroom." She smiled, remembering her warning that his bladder always gave before he insisted. "That's when the turbulence started. Small jostles, here and there. I was scared, so I held on to Bernard's ring that was around my neck, for safe-keeping. Jack noticed this and tried to make me feel better."

"He made a promise, to keep me company until Bernard came back to his seat." Rose admitted. "That's when…" Her voice trailed away, the fear she'd felt in that moment returning.

Kate, captivated by the story, finished her thought. "The turbulence got worse."

Rose shook her head. "The entire cabin was shaking, and when I finally came to, I was on this beach, and Bernard wasn't next to me." She pointed into the distance. Kate's eyes followed. "I sat on that hill over there, for hours a day. I didn't eat, I didn't drink, I just stared out at the ocean, hoping with all my might that my husband was alive. I felt cold, empty, and I started to believe the worst, that he was dead, that I would never see him again, but I had to keep faith. I had to believe that he was alive. That was all I had."

Kate knew the feeling. While Jack wasn't missing or presumed dead, he was gone, and all she had left was the hope of seeing him again. "Jack sat down next to me one day, talked to me, even though I didn't say anything back. He insisted on staying with me, for as long as it took, and he did. He was worried about me, more than I was worried about myself."

She moved her eyes from the sandy, undulating plot in the distance and looked Kate in the eyes. "He was keeping his promise to me, to this stranger that he owed nothing to, and I don't think he realized that was what he was doing. He was just, being who he is. I let him off the hook, told him that he didn't have to keep me company, but I couldn't get rid of him that easily." So, he hovered, Kate thought with a light chuckle. It was what Jack did when he felt like he needed to keep an eye on someone, when he felt helpless, when proximity was the only solution to those feelings of helplessness.

"Jack kept _that_ promise," Rose took Kate's hand, folding into it into her own, "and he'll keep this one. I know it." Kate's eyes grew weary then, her eyelids at half-mast, tears in her eyes. Rose saw how hard it was becoming for this girl to keep it together, to rise above what everyone has told her and to soldier on by herself, but she was doing it. Rose began to believe that Kate Austen had no idea how strong she really was.

Rose lifted Kate's chin with her curled index finger, encouraging her to look into her eyes. "Faith is a _very_ powerful thing, Kate, but it's not always as popular as those who believe want it to be. If you believe, with all of your heart, that Jack won't stop until he gets us off this Island, nothing else should matter."

Kate felt her composure crumbling as she flung herself into Rose's arms, hugging the older woman, her voice strangled by her emotions. "Thank you, Rose." The cleaned and covered wound pinched at her sudden movement, but she didn't care. She was too grateful to care, too comfortable in the circle of Rose's nurturing, soothing arms to think about anything else. Rose was the first to pull away, cupping Kate's cheeks in her hands, wiping the young woman's tears away.

"You just keep your head up. Do you hear me?" She demanded. "Remember, no matter what anyone tells you, follow your heart. Never abandon that. Okay?" Kate silently nodded, a bright smile mingled with the stain of her tears.

"You okay?" Rose said, laughing gleefully at the sight of her gorgeous smile.

"Yeah. Yes." Kate said with a laugh of her own, wiping at the remnants of her tears.

"Okay." Rose stood, picked up her basket of neatly folded laundry, and retreated back to her tent, not before taking one last look at Kate, who took a moment to pull herself together. She eventually rose, picked up her bag from the ground nearby and turned to leave. "Kate?" She turned to the sound of Rose's voice.

"I hope you find what you're looking for." She only offered a small smile in response, turning to approach her tent. She hadn't mentioned anything about her purpose, about why she went into the jungle every day, searching for something that continually evaded her grasp. She giggled at herself. It was just Rose's magic, her sixth sense, her gift of reading between the lines. She was a few strides away from her tent's opening when she heard someone speak up.

"What you got in that bag of yours to chow on, Light Foot?" She knew that voice anywhere. Sawyer. She angled her head, looking towards the sound of his voice. He was slouched in the sand in front of his tent; his sun-kissed mane blew in the cool breeze, a paperback in his hand, reading glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. He hadn't looked up from the small print of the pages, but he knew he'd gotten her attention.

"Light Foot?" She asked, cocking her hip and crossing her arms across her chest.

He finally looked up at her, a grin on his lips. "You leave the beach every morning without making a sound. Get it?"

She was less than amused, the newly-minted nickname annoying her more than anything. "Oh." She deadpanned. "Sorry, I got nothin'. You should go see what's in the kitchen." She started towards her tent when she felt him rise to his feet behind her, pulling the glasses from his face. She stopped in her tracks, taking a deep breath for her patience had been rattled already today, to its limits. He really couldn't have picked a poorer moment to try to piss her off.

"You mean to tell me that you've been in the jungle all day and you ain't picked a single piece of fruit?" Sawyer asked. He wasn't asking her for fruit, he wanted to know where she'd been, Kate thought, but she wasn't interested in playing it safe, nor was she interested in having this conversation. He noticed her bandaged right forearm before she could answer.

He pointed, reached. "What the hell happened to you?"

He sounded genuinely worried, she noted, grateful that he still cared. He never really stopped, she reminded herself. "Nothing, it's just a scrape." She just wanted to get to the privacy of her tent, where she could sleep for the few hours she was now used to. She needed to hurry this along. "I get the feeling that you eat just fine, so you're not asking me about mangoes because you're hungry. What do you really want, Sawyer?"

He moved towards her, his voice lowered. "I want to know what the hell you're doing out there in the jungle. Every day for the past three weeks, you've been getting up at the crack of dawn, leaving the beach and coming back sometime before sundown. It's dangerous, Kate. You know what's out there. You know what the Others are capable of."

"It's been a nearly a month James, and they haven't bothered us. They got what they wanted, Jack, to do the surgery, they don't need any of us anymore." Kate reasoned.

Sawyer wasn't satisfied with that answer. "That don't mean they won't try to make a statement, letting us know that they can still get to us if they wanted to." Before Kate could object, he added, "They've done it before." She remembered all too well and didn't take too kindly to Sawyer inferring that she'd forgotten. It was pretty hard to forget being captured, having a bag thrown over her head, being blindly dragged through the jungle, and having a gun pointed at her throat all within the span of a few hours.

"Yeah, I remember, but there's nothing to worry about." She softened at the anxiety that was seeping through his eyes. "As much as I appreciate your concern, I'm fine."

No, she wasn't, Sawyer thought. She looked scrawny, wasting away under the emotionless garb she wore to hide what she was feeling. She worked herself to the bone every day, and for what? What the hell was she wasting herself away for? Why was she putting herself through all of this? The suspense was killing him.

"Goodbye, James." She said, giving him no opportunity to continue their conversation. She was already turned away, her tent within arm's length.

"Ah, I see what you're doing." She heard him accuse, leaving the best part of whatever he was thinking out of the equation, forcing her to ask for it.

She closed her eyes as a sign of frustration. He was really going to do this now, she thought angrily. She dropped her bag and turned. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"You're avoiding me." Sawyer predicted with confidence. "If you don't want to talk about us, that's fine. You ain't gotta hide in the jungle all day long." He wore that cocky, smug grin, the one he flashed when he was engrossed in flirting. "This beach is big enough for the two of us, Freckles. So is my tent, if you're ever interested."

If she'd never heard a blatant invitation for sex in her life, she was certain she was hearing one right now. She almost laughed, but refrained. "First of all, that's not what I'm doing and second, I'm not interested." The smile fell from Sawyer's face. "I just have a lot on my mind, James, a lot that has nothing to do with you. I just need you to give me some space."

Sawyer opened his mouth to speak, to argue some more, but Kate wanted none of it. "Just, _back off_." The finality of her tone was loud and clear.

She disappeared into her tent, leaving Sawyer with the realization that she wasn't lying to him, for once, that she had no intention of picking up where they'd left off. He was losing ground with her, precious time to start something pretty amazing was lost, and turning back the clock would take plenty more effort than Kate was willing to give him or anyone else for that matter.

* * *

><p>The California sun bled over the balcony and through the blinds of the floor-to-ceiling windows in Jack's apartment, providing all the light he would ever need. He was hunched over the edge of his coffee table, doing what he'd always done, from the moment he woke up, until exhaustion seized him. Maps, unfolded and overlapping, and open books of atlases were scattered in front of him. Measuring and navigational instruments lay over them, rulers, a protractor, push pins attached to strings stretched from one set of maps to another, making for one tangled web. He'd been at this for weeks, spending day and night in the confines of his apartment, avoiding the outside world, reading, drawing, searching for this Island on every map and atlas that his hard earned money could buy.<p>

His hair was longer by a few inches, his scruffy stubble thicker across his jaws, cheeks and pointed chin. He held a pencil in his hand, using the straight edge of a ruler to draw discriminate lines across one map, and then he picked up the elaborate protractor that the salesman said was the most accurate tool for the job, measuring its angle in reference to another line he'd drawn, hoping that it provided the correct measurement, but it hadn't.

He straightened with a blow of air that funneled through gritted teeth and open nostrils, looking down at the conglomerate of maps and open atlases with burgeoning spite. He hadn't figured it out. None of what he'd drawn or calculated made the sense that it was supposed to. Nothing was coming out the way it should have. In a fit of blinding rage, he angrily flung his arms over the surface of the table with a roar, causing everything in its path to crash to the floor. He straightened with a strangled sob, combed the fingers of one hand through his hair, its ruffled edges sticking out in various directions, making him look as unkempt as he felt. This Island couldn't possibly be this hard to find.

Emotionally drained, Jack dropped into a chair, and closed his eyes, his head resting against its back while one hand shaded his eyes, his index finger and thumb rubbing into his temples. His land-line telephone rang, but he ignored it. He already knew who it was without looking at the caller-ID. Now wasn't the best time for him, the past three weeks hadn't been the best time either. The answering machine beeped, his mother's voice filled the room.

"_Jack, this is your mother. I've been trying to reach you, but you haven't been picking up. We need to talk. The Board of Directors wants to make an announcement about your promotion, and they want to do it soon. Will you please call me as soon as you get this? I'm worried about you, Jack. Just please, call me…Okay. Bye." _

He had been purposefully dodging her, her persistence growing stronger the longer it took him to get back to her, to tell her the truth, that he wasn't going to accept the offer, that he was going back to the Island, the place he never told her about. She'd see it as a betrayal, as a denial of destiny, and he really couldn't deal with her disappointment right now. Evading her phone calls was bad enough, but lying to her was worse. He needed a moment, a minute to breathe, to calm down, a headache spiking from the rubble of his collapsing conscience. He hadn't been feeling well for awhile now. Barely ate a bite, barely slept, with every second that ticked by, he felt less and less like himself. His heart thumped a little faster, his pulse ticking like a bomb ready to explode, and he could feel it, what Locke was talking about. He could hear Locke's voice, ringing in his head, echoing through the stillness of his quiet apartment.

'_This is your destiny, Jack. The more you fight it, the longer it'll haunt you._'

It was like he was standing right next to him, whispering in his ear, taunting and snide. He could see him in his mind's eyes, crouched over on the docks, bloody, decrepit, begging him not to go, and he was reminded that for a split second, he was contemplating what Locke was saying, he was actually weighing what he was saying against what he was doing, the pros and cons, what his decision to leave would constitute. It was impossible, what Locke said couldn't have been true. So why was he suddenly thinking about it? Why was it distracting him on a level that his anger just had?

With that terrifying thought trapped in his head with no way out, he jumped from his seated position with a start and dashed into his kitchen, looking around for something that would take the edge off. The coffee-pot was empty, which was good, because he was so wound up, caffeine would only heighten the nervous jitters coursing through him. So, he reached into his liquor cabinet and pulled out an unopened bottle of scotch. He broke the seal of the cap and shakily poured some into a glass and stared at it with the soundtrack of his heavy, labored breathing. He hesitated, the faint caramel coloring casted a delicate tint over the off-white counter-top. He slowly picked up the glass, swiveled it in his hand, and resisted bringing it any closer to his mouth, the weight of it comforting somehow.

His resolve melted and his lips found the edge of the glass and before he knew it, his head tilted back, the alcohol filling his mouth, drowning into him. The way it scratched his throat on the way down, the burn, the taste, it felt amazing, too amazing. He flung the empty glass onto the counter, and then gripped the counter's edge as he closed his eyes tightly, savoring the moment, until the sensation faded away. It had, too quickly. He wanted more, so he reached for the glass and poured another drink, and with cat-like reflexes, realized a long-forgotten habit, a past demon rearing its ugly head. It was the middle of the day, and there he was, ready to drown himself in a bottle and never look back. Frantic, ashamed and scared to death, he backed away from the counter, startled with himself, with this anger, with this sudden need to drink and be drunk. The hunger for a soothing drink, a buzz was always there, but never like this. This was stronger than he had the strength to fight against.

He pressed all of his weight into the counter behind him, his legs growing weak. "What the hell is wrong with me?" He whispered to himself, eyes wild with panic, tears ready to flow.

He grabbed his head in his hands, rubbing with all his might, wishing that the throbbing would stop, but it wouldn't. This feeling had grown progressively worse since he'd gotten off the Island. He thought it was his usual course of adrenaline kicking in; the pressure to find the Island and get everyone to safety pumping through his veins, making everything feel so heavy, burdensome, but this was something else entirely, that made him feel like a stranger in his own skin. He had to get out of this apartment, better yet, he had to tell someone what was happening to him, what he planned to do, what choice he didn't have.

He walked into his bedroom, and pulled a t-shirt over the white tank-top he was wearing, while grabbing his shoes, pushing his feet into them. He moved back into the living area, grabbed his jacket off the coat-tree and the keys from the table that stood by the door, opened it and slammed it behind him.


	10. The Order of Things

_**Again, my apologies for the time-length in between updates. I've been busy and I am a suffering perfectionist, who proofreads like crazy. Also, Thank you, Lostpedia. LOL.**_

* * *

><p>The warmth of the dish water soothed his hands as he scrubbed the ceramic bowl with his favorite sponge. What was left of dinner was placed in its proper plastic containers and stacked neatly in the refrigerator, and now a pile of dishes were left in its wake, to clean, dry and organize. He always knew that there was a bit of obsessive compulsiveness within his personality when it came to his kitchen, his home in general, and he could never really shake it, and never really wanted to. From the time he was a child, he remembered taking on responsibilities that his father neglected. Cleaning, dusting, everything that maintained the home they lived in here on the Island, what home the Dharma Initiative provided for them. Roger hadn't bothered himself with much, except for a cold beer and the television set whenever he was home, followed by throwing his son around for good measure, for no reason at all.<p>

Ben haphazardly dropped a freshly-cleaned coffee mug into the dish rack, the thoughts he'd let creep in surprising him. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly thinking about his father, after so many years of avoiding the very idea of him. Maybe it was because he was assessing his role as a father more so these days than ever before. Alex was always so quiet, so reserved, and angry. She sat there at the dinner table and neglected to engage in his attempts at conversation, pushing the mash potatoes around her plate, avoiding the meatloaf like the plague, scratching the spokes of her fork repeatedly, creating that shrill racket that she knew he hated. She asked to be excused for the night, and with a broken heart, he let her do so, watching as she quickly disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom. Was it really that hard to just sit with him, to eat the dinner he'd prepared and to just talk to him? Sadly, it must have been. He cleared the table and went about the lonely duties of clean-up, wondering what he could possibly do to get his little girl back, and realizing that she was much like him, determined, stubborn, and persistent in whatever she wanted to do, and if she wanted to hate him, she was going to, no matter what.

Over Ben's shoulder, Alex stood in the door frame of the hallway, watching as he tended to the rest of the dishes, scrubbing, rinsing and then putting them into the dish rack to dry. She hadn't spoken a word to him since coming back from her failed plot of running away. He asked her where she'd been and she lied, telling him that she took up residence at one of her friend's houses nearby, and simply forgot to tell him about the sleepover. The lie came so easily and she felt no guilt, no shame. He lied to her on a regular basis, why would she? She chastised herself for far more than lying to her father. Why hadn't she fought harder to go with Locke? Why had he insisted that she go back? Why had she listened to him? Why didn't he want her? Because he feared that she would get in his way, just like everyone else had. She honestly thought that he would be different, that he would give her the chance to prove herself, but he hadn't, he shipped her away. When were people going to get it? That she could take care of herself and was far more mature than most people her age?

In the weeks since, nothing had changed. She still felt trapped, overly-guarded and protected. She overheard Ben in his office before he called her down for dinner, talking to someone very cryptically, someone he was in business with apparently. He sounded all too pleased with what he heard. He tried to hide it from whomever he was talking to, but she could hear it in his tone. What business did he need to tend to in Los Angeles? She thought to herself as she continued to eavesdrop. Another secret he was keeping from her, another plot that no one knew about, and that nothing good could possibly come from. She was shaken from her thoughts by the sharp clang of a glass falling to the floor. Luckily it hadn't broken into pieces, but it had cracked, rendering it useless.

"Damnit." Ben swore, gripping the handle of his cane so that he could bend for the broken glass at his feet. That sprung Alex into action.

"Here. Let me help you." She startled him, catching him off guard as he balanced himself, his right hand gripping the cane handle tightly. He presented a grateful smile and straightened.

"Thank you." Ben said, using the countertop's edge as leverage as he righted himself. "It must have slipped."

Alex picked up the broken glass, setting it on the counter. "You should sit. I can get the rest."

Ben resisted. "No, that's fine—"

"Dad." She said it sternly, leaving no room for argument. This was the first time she called him that in a long time, since the scene on the docks with Locke. In fact, even then it was a spontaneous outburst, because before then, she'd always called him Ben. He hated it so much when she called him that, how impersonal and detached it felt, the emotional connotation of 'Dad' and the way she said it brought emotions that he hadn't felt in weeks. He couldn't help but smile.

Alex gripped his right forearm, lightly. "You're not supposed to be on your feet for too long. You should sit."

She was obviously worried; she obviously cared more than she led on. His physical therapy sessions had been going well. He was on his feet again, his right leg giving out earlier than his left whenever he tried to walk, but he and his therapist were working on it. He leaned into her as she helped him towards one of the dining room chairs nearby. He wasn't sure where his rebellious, defiant teenager had gone in that moment, but he liked this version of her so much better. He missed her. It reminded him of the days when it was so much easier to understand her, when she would wrap her little arms around his leg and beg him to play with her, her pigtails adorned with little blue ribbons that she demanded he tie in. It reminded him that she was still a compassionate human being, and that he hadn't completely screwed up.

"You overheard my physical therapist." Ben said with a laugh as he slowly lowered himself into the chair. She always made herself scarce during his physical therapy sessions, but she knew that detail, which meant that she'd been eavesdropping; it meant that she cared about his progress. Alex didn't acknowledge his accusation, busying herself with the dishes that were left in the sudsy dish water, providing the perfect excuse for avoiding him again until she was done. She caught him staring at her as she placed a sparkling clean casserole dish into the dish drain.

"What?" She shrugged, annoyed by the gleeful smile on his face.

"Nothing." He was still grinning, wrinkles at the far corners of his eyes. "This just brings back memories. You were around four years old and whenever I was cooking, you wanted to help. You wanted to help with everything. Your favorite toy was this little kitchen set with the little convection oven in it." Daddy's little helper, he would call her, so grateful that she was such an attentive and helpful child, always so eager to please him. He could see it in his mind's eye, the way she looked up at him with those impressionably dark eyes, sparkling with love and adoration for the man that seemed so tall and larger than life.

Not eliciting the response that he thought he would, he continued to ramble. "I walked outside today, into the front yard." He said after a breath. "It was nice. I saw that, that swing you loved so much when you were little. I remember playing with you out there for hours, pushing you and you asking me to push you again and again until you were as high as the sky." He smiled then. "Your laugh was so…pure, and sweet. I would give anything to—"

Alex whirled around angrily, her eyes spitting fire and brimstone, her voice loud and angry. "Why the sudden trip down memory lane, _Ben_?"

He sat back, startled, his mouth open, his heart cracking in his chest. So, she was back to calling him Ben, he thought sadly, that supportive and worried teenager of minutes past now gone, back to her old vindictive self. He chose his words carefully, said them slowly. "Honestly? Because within the past minute, you've said more to me than you have the past three weeks."He folded his hands and placed them in his lap as he hung his head. "I thought I'd seize the opportunity."

Alex's eyes fell to the floor, shaking her head. "Well, you can stop, because I'm not interested in hearing about my childhood or how good things used to be." She looked back up to him, her face stoic and strained.

Ben studied his daughter, his eyes seeping with his pain. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, looking away from him with the roll of her eyes, her hair tied into a messy ponytail, a few loose curls framing her face. She was so beautiful, he thought. So smart and strong, everything he imagined her to be. It hurt to see her this way, so spiteful and nasty. It wasn't who she was, but it was who she tried so hard to be.

He said the words slowly. "What have I done to deserve your hatred?" His voice shook, cracked. He shrugged his shoulders, truly confused. "I've raised you, I've clothed you. I've made sure you always had a safe place to call home." And this was how she treated him, as if he had done someone so reprehensible to her. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Why do you hate John Locke so much?" Alex retorted, avoiding his question.

Now he was mad. Where the hell did Locke fit into this discussion? Ben asked himself. What was she trying to prove? "I'm not talking about John Locke with you." He responded, his tone back to the reserved, clipped register that made her suspect him even more. "Not now and not ever."

Alex jerked forward, almost screaming. "Why not? Because I'm too young to understand, because I can't take it, or because if it wasn't for me, you would have killed him, shot him right there on the dock like a dog?" Before Ben could answer, Alex continued. "Oh no, wait, _you_ wouldn't have done it, you would have had someone else—"

"Because it's none of your business, Alex!" Ben blurted out, furiously, his eyes bulging, giving his daughter a full view of the tears pooling there. He cleared his throat and regained some semblance of composure. "What do you want me to say?" His tone showcased his hurt and agony with the constant tension in their relationship. Above all else, he sounded tired, exhausted with being treated this way. "That I enjoy what I had to do to protect you, to protect our family? That I_ like_ disappointing you? That I love the way you look at me now, with no emotion whatsoever besides this…anger that I never knew you would hold onto for this long?"

He was breaking down right in front of her and it felt liberating, and he couldn't stop, obliterating that barrier between them was in his grasp. If only he could reach her again. He was feeble now, listless, but still a stern determination to get his daughter back shone brightly. "Why can't you see that all I've ever tried to do is keep you safe? I did what I had to do on that dock, and you're right, I wouldn't have had Locke killed in front of you, because I care deeply about what you're exposed to, because you're my daughter. So, sue me for not wanting to destroy what innocence you have left."

He could see that she was considering every word he spoke, with the depth and importance with which he delivered them. "Don't you see, Alexandra?" He hadn't called her that in years, and somehow, it brought tears to her eyes, tears she didn't even attempt to hide. "It doesn't matter what I would have done to Locke or anyone else that threatens the safety of those who live in this community, I will protect you, always, but it doesn't change the fact that you weren't supposed to be out there in the first place."

Alex shook her head scoldingly as she wiped at her tears. She was almost there, caught up in what he was trying to spin in his favor. He still didn't get it, that she knew that everything he'd ever done hadn't been all about protecting her or this community, that there were things that he did and would always do because he wanted to inflict pain, because he was a vengeful and petty human being, who would do anything maintain power. The more he tried to dress up his decisions, the more she realized that he would never change.

She scoffed at the gentleness in her father's eyes, in the way that he slouched in his chair for effect. She saw the hope drain from his eyes at the cynical snort. He was no delicate old man who was just severely misunderstood, and for the first time in a long time, she knew she wouldn't waffle on that depiction.

"Like that's justification for what you were gonna do to him if I hadn't been." She stepped away from the kitchen counter, approaching him. "And you wonder why I hate you." With that striking blow, she moved into the dim hallway, the shuffling of her feet was the last thing Ben heard before the click of her door shutting behind her.

Ben's eyes slid close, the tightness of his features helped him to hold back the flood of tears that were ready to blow. Stiffly, he rose from the chair and wobbled over to the kitchen sink, where dishes still lay in the lukewarm water. Pivoting his cane against the lower cabinets, Ben sunk his hands into the water. He felt so cold, numb even, then spiraling rage swept through him, warming him all over. He picked up a plate from the suds, and reached for the sponge to clean it, but instead, in his ire, slammed it over the edge of the counter, shattering it into pieces, before he bowed over, small, imperceptible sobs emanating from him.

He let the pieces that he held in his hands drop to the floor as he allowed the tears in his eyes to let gravity take them as well.

* * *

><p>Jack knocked on the door of apartment 15B lightly, not sure if anyone was home. He was sure this was the right apartment complex, but his timing might not have been too great, as he stood at the doorstep, not bothering to call to make sure that she was there. He knocked again, but no one responded. He began to walk away when the door opened. He turned, meeting the dark, deep eyes of a woman, blonde hair tied back into a neat bun, a silky blouse and slacks completed her professional look.<p>

"Hi, uh, I'm sorry. I must have the wrong apartment number." Jack said with a timid smile, looking back at the gold numbers and letter that were nailed to the door. 15B. He was in the right place after all. "I'm looking for Juliet Burke."

The woman smiled back, opening the door a little wider. She couldn't help but notice how attractive he was, the scruff on his face and the tattered, rustic look made him all the more alluring. The leather jacket didn't hurt matters either. She now knew why her sister was so smitten with him. "Then you're in the right place. I'm her sister, Rachel. You must be Jack."

He let out an embarrassed, nervous laugh, extending his hand to her. "Yes, yes, I am. It's very nice to meet you." Rachel took it, shaking it with a flirtatious flare that went right over his head. "Juliet has told me a lot about you." He knew about the cancer, how it ravaged her body, but then the breakthrough, the pregnancy. He was staring at the reason why Juliet wanted off that Island square in the face.

"Ditto." Rachel said, unable to let go of her smile and his hand. He was gorgeous, she thought to herself. Juliet hadn't even begun to explain how much. His features were striking, and his smile was enough to melt her flesh right off her bones. She mentally shook herself out of her trance and invited him inside. "Please come in."

"Thank you." Jack offered, stepping past her and into the apartment.

Rachel closed the door behind her, turning on her heels, watching as he made the room look smaller than it was before. "Juliet is in the back, I'll let her know you're here." She disappeared down a hallway, leaving Jack to scrutinize the apartment.

It was quaint, but modern, comfortable, but stylish all the same. It reminded him of Juliet, a woman of experience and taste, but understated and welcoming. He noticed a picture frame on a nearby end-table. Curious, he picked it up, smiling at the photo. It was a photo of Juliet, Rachel and a young boy. Blonde hair, the same hue as Juliet's, and dark eyes, like his mother. He must be Julian, Jack thought, harkening on the memories of how Juliet described him, her only point of reference to his features was scratchy video feed that Ben allowed her to see.

Rachel walked into the room with a small child in tow, causing Jack to place the frame back in is proper place. The child sat on her left hip, his head buried into the crook of her neck, half asleep. Julian, the miraculous result of Juliet's groundbreaking fertility research, Jack realized. Rachel approached him.

"Jack," she said, staring at her son as he rose from her shoulder, rubbing the back of one small hand over his eyes. She rubbed her hand through his golden locks, kissing his forehead. "This is my son, Julian." The child looked over at him and he could have sworn he felt a lump form in his throat. He was one cute kid; the photo hadn't done him justice. "Can you say hello?"

"Hello." Julian whispered, waving with his other hand.

Jack waved and smiled at the young boy. "Hi." He caught Rachel's proud look at her son, who burrowed into her shoulder again. "He's beautiful."

"Thank you." She said.

Juliet rounded a corner then, wearing tight blue jeans and a modest V-neck t-shirt, the color of violet, her hair up in a ponytail, her bare feet shuffling against the floor. Her sister hadn't told her who was waiting for her in her living room, so when she caught sight of him, her eyes went wild with joy.

"Jack!" She exclaimed, lunging herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "It's so good to see you!" He smiled widely at her excitement to see him, wrapping his arms around her waist. She'd called him numerous times, to check up on him, to let him know that she was there if he needed someone to talk to, but he never made the attempt to reach out, until now.

Rachel cleared her throat, garnering Jack and Juliet's attention. She nodded towards the door, fitting Julian more securely atop her hip while pulling the straps of her purse and his backpack over her unoccupied shoulder. "We should get going, Jules." She snickered at hearing Juliet's snort of disapproval, but she knew that she wanted to catch up with her friend. "My feet are killing me and I still have to decide what I'm gonna feed this one for dinner. Thank you for babysitting him while I interviewed."

"Anytime." Juliet walked over to her, cupped her face in her hands and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you. Call me when you can." She said before doing the same to Julian, diving in to kiss his cheek.

"I love you too, and I'll call you as soon as I've got him tucked in bed." She looked over Juliet's shoulder to Jack. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too." Jack said as he waved.

Juliet escorted Rachel and Julian to her door, and they were half-way into the hallway before Rachel leaned in and whispered, "I want _every_ detail." She winked and then walked out, leaving her sister to blush furiously in the doorway. She cleared her throat and closed the door. She turned to Jack, giving him a look that he read all too easily.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I know, I know. I disappeared on you. I'm sorry."

"Disappeared is a gross understatement, Jack." Besides the slightly longer hair and the growth on his cheeks and chin, he looked different. She couldn't quite place what was different, but something was. "I've called, left messages…"

"Yeah, I know, I've been busy." Juliet gestured towards the couch, and both she and Jack dropped onto it, their thighs grazing slightly.

"I'm guessing your patient load has gotten worse since coming back, I know mine has. Everyone wants to have a baby it seems." She chuckled, but he suddenly felt uncomfortable. He hadn't told her that he wasn't going back to the hospital, not now at least. How could he break it to her that he was busy trying to find the Island, something that he lied to her face about once already?

"I, um, haven't gone back to work. Yet." He looked back at the photo of Juliet, Rachel and Julian that sat across the room. "They're beautiful, Juliet. Your sister, you nephew, your family. I'm really happy for you."

His sad smile knocked her out of her good mood and trapped her in whatever her friend was going through. She finally realized what it was about him that was different. He didn't look happy. Granted he wasn't completely happy while on the Island, but the anticipation of going home made him extremely happy. Was it not what he expected?

"Jack? What's wrong?" Juliet asked.

He turned to her, his eyes connecting with hers. "I lied to you. On the submarine. You asked me what Kate and I talked about before I left and it wasn't nothing. It wasn't goodbye."

Juliet stood then, her shock and disappointment evident in the way she did so. She turned, her hip cocked, her arms folded over her chest, a stance that reminded him so much of Kate, that for a second, his heart literally jolted. "You're going back for her."

Jack clamped his hands together in front of him, his fingers cradling between each other, readying himself for the opposition. "Yeah." He didn't even attempt to correct her phrasing, because for all intents and purposes, he was going back for Kate, there was no denying that. He couldn't even bring himself to lie about that one, no matter how hard he tried to.

"I can't just leave them on that Island, Juliet. They're gonna—"

"Are you crazy, Jack?" She interrupted him, not giving him a chance to explain, her voice biting and pithy. "Have you literally lost your mind?"

He mentally coached his temper to stay leveled, because he wasn't expecting her to be happy with his decision, but when he spoke, he sounded just as terse, defensive and pent up as she. "No, I haven't lost my mind, Juliet." He looked up at her, his eyes squinting with suspicion. "Were you actually expecting me to just walk away from them, leaving them there to die?"

She shrugged her shoulders, never breaking from her defensive pose. "I don't know what I was expecting, Jack. Maybe I was expecting you to tell me the truth, because that's what friends do for one another." Now, he felt guilty again. They had forged a pretty elaborate bond before leaving the Island, a sacred trust that Jack relied on heavily after Kate's betrayal. He didn't know how he would have gotten through it without her friendship. He was still trying to get through it.

He took a deep breath, looking down at the floor. When he was ready to tell her the reason why he kept it from her, he met her frosty glare, crystallizing behind icy blue eyes. "I couldn't risk you talking me out of it."

"Oh, so, you thought I would talk you out of it, because you know, deep down inside that it's a terrible, dangerous idea." Juliet pushed. Why was Jack still willing to sacrifice everything? The answer was crystal clear. "I knew she'd get to you."

That got his attention like nothing else. "Get to me? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Kate, Jack!" She nearly yelled. "You think that the Fugitive hasn't told Ben about this yet? You think that she kept her word for once? I was there, when you made her promise not to come back for you, and what happened? She completely ignored you, her own safety and nearly ruined everything. Now you think that she's keeping your secret over her own life?"

Jack shook his head. How could Juliet have gotten it so wrong? Her hatred of Kate was blinding her. "She never meant to—"

"Never meant to what? Interfere? Because that's exactly what she was doing there." Juliet interrupted. If Kate couldn't have him, no one could, she thought with a derisive chuckle. She stepped closer to him, driving her final point home, hoping that Jack would realize the truth of it, once and for all. "She doesn't care about what it costs you, what risks you took to save her; she completely turned her back on that and did what she wanted to do. She's impulsive, selfish and she'll do anything to—"

"Do _not_ talk about her like you know her!" Jack interrupted her with pointed aggression in his tone, his voice profoundly strained, his eyes black with annoyance and more emotion than she had seen from him in a very long time. He spoke again once he calmed down. "She didn't know that Locke was trying to blow up the submarine and she didn't say anything to Ben. She came back because she thought I was in danger. She—", he swallowed then, still finding it so frustrating that she risked her life for his. He still shook with anger about it. "She did it for me."

"She had no idea what I had planned until I told her that night in the gameroom." He could see her face, the way her hopeful smile slid to the pavement floors when he told her that they were letting him go. There was no pretending her devastation.

"You want to know what I _do_ know?" Juliet pushed, softly, yet firmly.

Jack cocked his head, his eyes squinting. "What's that?"

"She broke your heart, Jack," she punctuated each word of that sentence, and Jack balked away slightly as she finished her thought, "and she doesn't even know it."

She wanted Kate to know just how much she'd hurt this man, she wanted to see her in hell for it and nothing less. The sharpness of her words felt like body blows that made him feel winded, suddenly sucking in air that his lungs failed to grab hold to.

He was still protecting her, Juliet thought, and it literally made her sick to her stomach. Kate was a delicate subject for him; that much she understood, that much she hated, because it was still evident that Jack loved her, and wouldn't stand for anyone speaking of her in the way that Juliet felt necessary for him to hear. It infuriated her how he refused to listen to reason when it came to Kate. She'd seen her file, the list of crimes she'd committed, and why she was in Australia. Jack would do nothing but ruin his life by getting any more involved with her than he already was.

He combed his fingers through his hair, his head hanging low. His fingertips dug into his closed eyelids, and he chuckled a little, amused by her insinuation that he'd forgotten how battered he was over Kate, how destroyed he still was about her. He woke up with it, he went to bed with it, he was living it.

"You think I don't know that?" His voice was humble, emotional, slurred. He stared at her, trying to convince her with some shred of emotionless assurance in his eyes, but he falter, their color bleeding from wounds he thought had healed.

In the darker moments of the past few weeks, when he sat in his apartment late at night, with the lights out, slipping into the abyss with nothing but the desk lap on his dining table illuminating a small corner of his apartment, his eyes would slide close and he saw her. Her wild, dark curls, moody green eyes, the way her freckles seemed to migrate over the curve of her nose and the paleness of her cheeks, so that there was always a new place to discover them. Every minute detail that he thought he'd forget by this time was eerily magnified, cemented in his memory. Every time it happened, every time he saw her, the tone of the vision became all the more gloomy, dangerous, more immediate and pressing. At first, he just recalled memories of stolen moments between them, but the focus was always her, how her dimples dented at the slightest upturn of her lips, how she bit her bottom lip when she was worried. But then he would see things that he never remembered being there for, moments that weren't theirs, but hers. Her moments of solitude crept in, but he felt like he was a part of them somehow, but he couldn't break through. He could never feel or touch, just watch, experience. How was that possible?

During this last haunting, he saw her alone in the jungle, running, her feet beating against the ground rhythmically, her heart pounding erratically, her eyes darting frantically. He felt like he was right next to her, like he was moving with her through the trees, and then she slipped away, she disappeared and in a sense, so had he. In that instant, when he felt her vanish, he opened his eyes with a start, soaking in a cold sweat, realizing with certainty that even she, with all the distance between them, held this power over him that he could never escape, thoughts of her left the line between reality and desire remarkably blurred. He worried for her, too much to think straight. Was what he saw real? If it was, what kind of danger was Kate in? What if he couldn't get to her in time? In order to get his mind off of it, he poured himself into the maps and charts that were scattered throughout his apartment, the results disastrous, fueling him towards a spiraling defeat, one he wasn't sure he had the strength to get up from.

Juliet was just trying to look out for him, he knew that and was grateful for it, but Kate wasn't the enemy. She was the only person he truly trusted, even in spite of the pain she'd caused him. How could she break something she never really knew she had? He thought over and over again. He had no right to be heartbroken, when she was free to sleep with whomever she pleased, but why didn't that make him feel any better? Why hadn't that logical conclusion made their separation, this length of time away from her any easier? She was never his to lose, and still he felt this gaping hole in his life where she used to reside.

"She made her choice, Juliet." His voice was so raw and indelible. He sounded so sure of himself, so resolute with it, even though tears still sat low in his eyes. "She chose. I need to learn how to live with that." He covered his face in his hands, wondering just when he would ever learn.

Juliet walked over to the couch and sat down next to him. She brought a hand to his shoulder, holding there. He lowered his hands. "But I can't think about that right now, not until after I get back. I have to focus on getting to them…and I can't…" He groaned, bringing a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them again.

"Can't what?" Juliet dragged a soothing hand up and down his back.

He looked over at her. Her eyes were so soft, understanding, her heart breaking for him. "Find the Island." He rose to his feet, wordless for minutes on end, pacing the floor in front of her. "I've been looking for weeks, but nothing. It's like it doesn't even exist." He cupped a hand over his forehead, his headache from earlier still pulsating, that small bite of scotch fizzing away. "It doesn't make any sense. Ben wanted me to lie about the Island, but why, if it's not possible to find it?"

"I don't know, Jack. His twisted way of taking precaution, like Brian said." She wished that she could offer answers, to give him some peace of mind, but she couldn't. That explanation wasn't good enough for him. He continued to walk in a circle, in deep, drowning thought.

"So, what is your plan, exactly?" She asked, looking up at him. "Do you expect to land a plane onto the Island, grab everyone off the beach and go completely unnoticed by Ben?"

Jack stopped his movements and contemplating. "Why would he try to stop me? He got what he wanted from me, and now he's done."

Juliet shook her head. "He's never done, Jack. Do you honestly not remember how diabolical he is?" Jack turned from her then, pacing like a caged animal, rubbing the back of his head impatiently. He didn't need this. There were so many obstacles in his way already; he didn't need her adding to it because she still wasn't sold on the idea. She noticed the stubbornness of his stride and stood up, reaching for him, making him turn to look at her, stepping into him until he couldn't avoid what she was telling him.

"He always has some hidden agenda, Jack. _Always._ He planted himself near your camp, because he wanted you to find him, he needed you to help him and he kept me on that Island under false pretenses and he had no intention of letting me go, not until it suited him." Juliet pointed out.

"He has a gift of making you believe that _his_ idea is actually _yours_ and that you came to it all on your own." Like performing the surgery, Juliet thought. Ben knew just how to destroy Jack, by stripping him of the person he loved, predicting that he would agree to the surgery to find a way out, but he underestimated just how much Jack loved and what he was willing to do for those he cared about.

"Ben is the least of my problems." Jack admitted under his breath, his hands resting on his hips.

"What does _that_ mean?" Juliet asked, worriedly.

Jack hesitated, deliberating in his head just how to say this, what words to use, what tone to express. He walked to one side of the room and then retraced his steps. "Something is happening to me. Something I can't explain." He finally confessed, speaking to her without actually looking at her. "All this time I've been trying to find the Island, to get there for my friends, to do what I promised them, but I feel like it's not as cut and dry as that anymore, and I can't make it stop." He could hear Locke in his head again, goading.

'_When you get off this Island, when you see your world without it, you'll do anything to get back here again.'_

Jack grabbed at his forehead again, rubbing it with his fingertips. "Locke said that once I leave the Island, I would do anything to find it again." He turned his back to her, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. He whirled back around, the concern for him in Juliet's eyes palpable. "I think he knows something that I don't. That I don't understand, or that I don't _want_ to understand, but either way, I don't think he's as crazy as I want him to be. I don't think he ever was."

"Locke _is_ crazy, Jack." If Juliet knew one thing, it was that. The man was a ticking time bomb and if Jack hadn't left the Island when he had, Locke would have gotten him killed. "He was running for the submarine with a bag of explosives. I would be surprised if Ben hasn't had him killed already." Juliet tried to make this okay for him, but her assurance wasn't reaching him.

"But what if he was right?" Jack asked. "What if …what I'm feeling is because of the Island itself? Because I wasn't supposed to leave?"

Juliet was exasperated with what was running through Jack's head. It was becoming impossible to keep up with him. "You're talking about the Island as if it has some hold over you."

"Maybe it does." He retorted curtly.

Juliet shook her head emphatically, bringing her hands up in front of her, waving them, signaling got him to stop. "Jack, this is ridiculous. You're just anxious to get back to your friends. You've been working yourself into an early grave, because you're worried about them, nothing more. You—"

"That's not it, not all of it." Jack interrupted. "I know exhaustion, I know anxiety. I'm a surgeon, I've lived with it for years, I know how to control it, but this…this is something I've never experienced before. I don't have a frame of reference for anything I'm feeling right now." She recognized just how scared he was right then, the fear of what was happening to him was eating him alive. Everything that was certain suddenly wasn't.

A tear escaped down his cheek. "I don't know what's happening to me, but getting back to this Island, it's… all I have left."

"Jack…" She said his name with such sadness and despair. He was deteriorating right in front of her and there was nothing she could do. Getting back to the Island was becoming his existence, his everything. He had so much more to live for, to go on for. He was a brilliant doctor, a wonderful man who had so many years ahead of him. Her love for him grew with what heart she knew him to have. He was sweet and gentle, a loving, caring person. He deserved it all, and the fact that he felt he had nothing left, it was devastating.

"You have Rachel and Julian, you have a family." He argued before she could state her case for him staying put, because he knew that she would try. "You got your life back, Juliet, and you worked hard to get it back. You left the Island in your rearview where it should be, but I can't." She could never understand what was going on with him, he realized. He was speaking in tongues to her, saying things that the Jack she knew just weeks ago would never have uttered.

"Fact of the matter is, I don't want my old life back, not until I find what I'm looking for, and even after that, who knows?" He shrugged his shoulders, a meek smile on his face. "Maybe I've changed too much, maybe I've finally realized that I can never go back to the way things were."

He didn't know what the future held for him, everything was so convoluted. He didn't feel what he thought he would feel about anything. The Island was it. It was the only thing that made sense. Juliet looked stricken just then, her eyes darting back and forth as she looked in the distance. Jack saw that she was no longer listening to him, lost in her own thoughts immediately.

"Juliet? What's wrong?" He asked, watching as she leaned down onto a nearby bookcase, crossing her arms over her chest. He reached out to her; his hands caressed her elbows lightly. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, hurt by the tenderness of his touch, the way he was so ready to comfort her when she didn't deserve it.

She bit at her bottom lip. "There was something that I've wanted to tell you for a very long time, but…"

She stopped there, and Jack pushed for more. "What? What is it?"

She opened her eyes to find his pleading face, the face she could never deny. "You have a sister and a nephew too, Jack."

His eyebrows scrunched inward, an uncompromising, quizzical crease fell between them. His head leaned to the side, and he dropped his hands from her, moving from her a touch. "Wh—What?"

She was looking down at his feet at this point, unable to look him in the eyes. "Ben gave me the assignment of picking apart your life, to read and know everything about you—"

"Yeah, Ben used you to try to manipulate me into agreeing to help him, I was there. You told me about that already." His voice was searching, waiting anxiously for the news that had her on pins and needles all of a sudden.

"Well, there's more." She crossed her arms more tightly, and finally connected to his eyes, which were glazed with ignorance. "There were things in your file about your father that I never told you, that I couldn't tell you. About his travels, details and records that he kept from you and your mother." She swallowed, and then continued. "He spent quite a bit of time in Australia over the years. It wasn't some random spot he chose to go to when he left."

God, this was so hard. "He, uh, he had an affair with someone he met there, twenty-four years ago and she became pregnant. It was on-going, lasted for some time, until they decided to part ways, because your father wasn't willing to divorce your mother." Jack stepped back, her words knocking him away a few steps, but she continued.

"She gave birth to a baby girl. He went down there to try to connect with her, but she didn't want anything to do with him." Jack turned away from her, his hand over his mouth. Juliet was starting to break down, her voice shaky and nervy. "That was a week before he died."

He had a sister? This wasn't possible. He didn't want to believe it. He looked back over at Juliet. He could tell she hadn't told him everything. She was still holding something back. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Jack, I—" She hesitated, knowing full well that she was about to break him further than he always was.

Jack stepped into her, his voice demanding and abrupt. "Tell me."

Juliet gave a short nod, her voice squeaking through her tight throat. "Your sister was on Flight 815, too, Jack," she looked up at him, shock bellowing over his anger for a moment, "and she was eight months pregnant."

He looked at her with steaming eyes, his mouth poised to say more, but then it dawned on him. His eyes grew wild with bewilderment. "Claire?" His broken, strangled voice spoke. Juliet brought her hand over her mouth, tears already falling down her face as she nodded once, then twice. He gripped his hair between his fists, his own tears falling down his face. He was trembling, his glistening, wide eyes darted to and fro. "Oh my God." He breathed, choking on a gasp.

The betrayal she found in his eyes was deadly, lethal. He retreated with legs that wobbled under his weight, his face fixed in a state of complete bafflement. She reached out to him, her fingers curled around his forearm. "I'm so sorry, Jack. There were so many times that I wanted to—"

"Wanted to what?" He yelled, yanking his arm from her grasp. "Finally tell me, after all the time we spent together that you knew that Claire was my sister?" He was yelling now, loudly, so angry, it radiated off of him in waves.

She spoke timidly through her sobs, her voice growing louder to explain. "I was sworn to secrecy. If I'd told you, Ben wouldn't have let me leave; he wouldn't have let me go." She cried into her hands, her face covered with them, her heart crushed for having crushed his, for having broken his trust.

"I'm so sorry, Jack." She said as she wiped at her tears. "I had to do it. I had to get back to my family." She found no excuse adequate enough to express, to make his pain go away, to justify the choice she made. She had acted selfishly and now she would lose him, she knew it. Jack stared off into the distance at his left, his stomach churning, and his mouth suddenly dry. He finally turned to her again with eyes full of hatred and disgust.

"By keeping me from mine." She let out another anguished sob, so disgusted with herself, more than enough for the both of them, but Jack would throw the final punch.

"So much for friends telling each other the truth." He sounded so heartbroken, devastated; she could hear the tears in his voice, ones she was sure he would shed once he was out of sight, the man in front of her too angry to cry now, too ready to punish her to let her see him that way. He moved for the door, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. He needed to get away from her; he needed to get away from everything.

Frantic to stop him, Juliet sprung towards him, her hand wrapped around his forearm again, physically pleading him to wait before she spoke it. "No! Jack, please! Wait!"

"Don't—" He whipped around, her hand falling away from him on impact. "Don't you _dare_ touch me." There was such disdain in his voice, such heartache. From that one sentence, she could tell that he was done. With her. With this.

He hurled the door open and was gone in a flash, leaving Juliet in a pool of her own tears.

Her door remained open after him, the image of her body-wracking cries left for the world to see.

* * *

><p>A dimly lit, large cavernous room supported by several large columns several feet in diameter, ornated with solid, crumbling stone walls, was calm, the sound of night had fallen over it. Moonlight filtered in from the splintered ceiling, the stars sinking downward, so big and round to the naked eye. Small torches sat within tiny holes along all four walls, clay water jugs stood in a far corner.<p>

In another corner of the massive cavity, a spinning wheel spun coarse threads. The spindle of the wheel was fed assiduously by two large, calloused hands, as a sandal-clad foot pumped the pedal, continuously stepping down onto it to propel the wheel to spin a few thousand revolutions per second. The rhythmic clicking sound from the petal set its own tempo within the quiet space. The foot belonged to a man sitting in front of the spinning wheel, the machine's conductor. He was of moderate build, short, blond hair, his face indiscernible in the faint lighting. He wore dark pants and a dingy white collared shirt and sat alone in the firelight, working ardently to create the last bit of threads he needed for his final project, one very near to his heart.

Fire crackled in a large round pit at the center of the room. The far wall was decorated with a faded painting of a winged goddess of some kind, Egyptian in origin, with a small ravine of water underneath it, the source of the water coming from someplace within the wall. The man rose from his wheel, gathering the homemade thread and walked over to a long tapestry that hung from high up, and touched the ground. A primitive loom that held the warp thread under a definite tension strain held it together, so that he could weave the weft threads through it, creating an intricate weaving. Once the course threads were put in place, he used a long-bladed knife to carefully ram the threads together. His tapestry depicted a pair of wings outstretched from an encircled eye figure, and what appeared to be seventeen long arms emanating like rays out from this eye, falling onto figures of people, ancient Egyptians through the length of the drapery, sprinkled with hieroglyphs. Across the top was an emblazoned Greek-lettered motto, translated as:

'_May the gods grant thee all that thy heart desires.'_

As he worked, he thought about the betrayal of his trust and his willingness to teach and share the duties of protecting this Island, this place that held so much of humanity's salvation and destruction. He had been deceived, in ways that he couldn't have possibly imagined. It didn't make him angry; it made him feel nothing, for the Island always found its way. Once he was done, the nameless, faceless man stepped back, admiring his creation. It was finished. Finally. Years of hard work, centuries of spinning course threads into something useful, lifetimes of defending and protecting, it was all over. He could finally rest in peace.

He breathlessly dropped to his knees, keeled over and wept at the base of the cloth, the curve of his back hiccupping with every tear he shed. In his heart, he was grateful, happy. He was free. He welcomed the end of his life now, the end of this journey, this pain, this ultimate sacrifice that he hadn't known he was making some two-thousand years ago. Death was a welcomed visitor. Still arched towards the floor, his arms stretched in front of him, his palms flat, he prayed, silently chanted in Latin, his voice growing louder and more emotional with every word of the dead language he spoke forwards and backwards. When he was done, he looked up at the completed tapestry. It was time.

He knew that he would come after him. He'd done what he did for this. Mercy was never his strong suit, but he would gladly stand at the waft of his blade and perish, if for the Island's purpose, its placement in the right hands. He knew that he had done all that he could, but he wasn't done yet. It was never that easy, and it certainly wasn't going to start now.

He would never be done, not until the Island landed in the fateful hands of the one who was _never_ supposed to leave.


	11. The Cabin

The wind brushed a few strands of hair into Claire's face as she stood at a corner of her tent, untying the knot of a piece of rope that kept the roof from flying away in the breeze. She readjusted the knot, tying it tighter around the edge of the bamboo that acted as the backbone of her shelter. It was another perfect day, the sky so blue and clear, she felt like she could see right through it. The water of the ocean just as crystal, translucent, clouds bouncing through the waves in the reflection. She looked over to Charlie, who was walking up and down the beach, with Aaron in tow, wrapped snugly in the cotton-knit sling he made for her awhile back. He was getting bigger and bigger as the days went on, her son a human measuring stick of how much time has truly passed. This wasn't the environment she wanted to raise her son in. She didn't want to be afraid anymore, for him and for herself. Three months they'd been living on the beach, surviving. How much longer would they last?

After she was done adjusting the tent, she picked up a basket of clean, wet laundry, and made her way over to the lines to hang them out to dry. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of Kate, bending over the edge of the community trough, filling her water bottle, obviously distracted, but quiet like she'd been for an entire month now. She straightened, twisted the top and shoved it into her pack before bringing it over her shoulder. Claire knew what that meant. For the longest time, she watched her as she came to and from the beach, only to do it all over again the very next day.

She studied her, desperate to hear the sound of her voice after so many weeks of not knowing what to say and how to initiate. Couldn't she sit still for five seconds? Claire thought to herself. Every time she thought she had a grip on her nerves, some resolve that could match her desire to speak up, Kate was gone, disappearing past the treeline and into the heart of darkness, leaving Claire to wonder if there was any connection left on her end, to what they meant to each other.

On a hopeless whim, determination burning with a sudden anger, she dropped her laundry basket into the sand at her feet, and literally marched over to Kate, who was just about to turn to leave until she heard someone speak out.

"Wait." Claire yelped, catching Kate off guard. She turned to the blonde, who hadn't thought past getting her attention. Kate's dim eyes brightened at the sight of her, all nervous and hopeful, but she had that stubborn crease set in her brow.

"Claire. Hey." She didn't quite know what to say, and that didn't go over well with Claire at all.

"'_Hey_'? After a month of avoiding me, that's all you have to say?" Claire wasted no time airing her frustration.

Startled, Kate came closer. "What? Claire, wait…I—"

"I miss you, Kate." She said it with such conviction, but there was so much more going on there. She felt abandoned and genuinely hurt, and Kate could see it in her eyes. She caused more damage staying away than she ever thought possible. "Don't you miss me, too? Don't you care anymore?"

"Of course I miss you Claire, and of course I still care." Kate defended herself. "I think about you and Aaron constantly, and I felt terrible for stepping away," she saw the anger filtering through Claire's eyes change form, "but I had to."

"Why?" Claire asked.

Did she really have to spell it out for her? Kate thought. "Because I'm one of very few who believes that Jack is coming back, and you don't."

"I never said I didn't believe that he was coming back." Claire admitted, and then her eyes fell to the ground in shame. "I didn't say much of anything, really."

That was her mistake, she already knew. Instead of being there for Kate, she was the one who distanced herself and kept quiet on the issue of Jack and rescue. She had so many opportunities to speak up in support of her, but she wasn't sure what to believe, who to trust. She was just as much to blame for their divide as Kate, which made her feel terrible for bombarding her just now. They were both side-stepping each other based on misunderstanding and confusion.

"I should have been there for you, Kate. I'm so sorry."

Kate brought her arms around her, bundling her into a hug. Claire hugged her back immediately, her breath escaping her lungs in pure relief. Kate pulled back, smiling down at her as she walked over towards the vacant tent where Rose tended to her. "Come on, let's sit down and talk." Once they were settled side-by-side, Kate turned to her, the first to speak.

"There's been so much tension about Jack and who believes what. I don't want to rock the boat again, so I keep to myself. I'm really sorry that hurt your feelings." She looked out at the water, the wind wild in her hair. "Everyone looks at me differently now. I didn't know who I could trust."

Claire spoke up, her voice choked with emotion. "I just don't want to raise my son on this Island, you know?" Kate saw the worry in her beautiful blue eyes, and wanted so badly to take it away. "I want Aaron to have a normal life. I don't want him to grow up here."

Kate nodded slowly. "I know you do." She suddenly smiled, letting laughter fill the air between them. "I remember the night Aaron was born like it was yesterday. I was so scared."

Claire scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes as she laughed. "_You _were scared? I was the one who was in labor."

"Okay, okay, we were both pretty scared," Kate laughed, then her voice was serious again, somber, "but honestly, the moment I knew what was happening, that you were in labor, I was ready to run in the opposite direction. One of those habits that just won't die." She shrugged bashfully. "Jin had come back from going to get Jack and told Charlie that he wasn't coming and that I had to deliver your baby."

Claire noticed that Kate went to some other place just then. Her eyes "Jack believed that I could do it, he trusted me, but I didn't. I didn't think I was capable of being calm for you and being there for you in the way you needed me to be." Her eyes landed on Claire's face again, her smile bright and proud. "But I did, I was. And he's here and he's beautiful and healthy."

"I was just so stuck in my own confusion, I never considered what you're going through," the confusion was evident in Kate's eyes, so Claire elaborated, "being here without him." No further elaboration was necessary. Kate knew exactly who Claire was referring to. It had to be obvious to everyone with eyes and a sense of humanity that the longer Jack was away, the more distressed she became.

"I miss him." _So much_, she thought to herself. It was as simple as that. No frills, just the achingly long burn of longing that never went away. She offered a sad smile instead of saying it. "It's so hard being on this beach, expecting to see him walking around with this…pensive look on his face, like the world is on his shoulders and he's alone with it, like no one can understand."

He worried about them so much, suffered for them, she thought. She was really the only person who saw into the window of how much he struggled to be everything he could possibly be for everyone and how failing at even a slight of that was enough to drive him crazy. She understood all too well. It was a part of their connection, a big part, what grounded them and made them so unique. What he shouldered, she shouldered. What he had to bear, whether it was guilt, shame, triumph or sadness, she willingly bore with him. That was who they were to each other, and there were still levels they had yet to discover together, levels she caught herself dreaming about.

"I know that Jack is a good person, Kate. He's always been good to me and Aaron, and I don't think that he could just get on a sub and leave us behind," that brought hope to Kate's heart, but Claire wasn't finished, "but the Others, they're a dangerous group of people who do very dangerous things. I don't trust them, and he sided with them."

Kate shook her head. She heard that reasoning before, from Sayid and it sounded even worse coming from Claire, who was only rehearsing what she heard others say, what others believed. "Just because Jack was with them, doesn't mean he was _with_ them." She reasoned. "He stayed behind to save me and Sawyer's lives. I tried to get him back, but he already had this plan in action and he wasn't gonna abandon it." Kate turned her entire body into Claire, determined. "He never stopped caring about us, and I _know_, without a shadow of a doubt, that he's gonna find help. He told me he would. He wouldn't lie to me about something like that."

Kate could see Claire softening, so she pleaded her case while she still could. "Can you trust him, Claire? Can you trust _me_? That I'm telling the truth when I tell you that Jack didn't side with them over coming back with me? That he has every intention of rescuing us?"

Claire looked away momentarily, earnestly deliberating what Kate was asking her to believe. After another beat, she turned to her friend and nodded with a grin on her face. "Yeah." Kate closed her eyes with the reveal of another brilliant smile, her relief released in a heavy sigh. "He wouldn't lie to you and you wouldn't lie to me."

"Thank you." Kate said.

Claire cocked her head, still confused about something. "But, that doesn't explain why you leave the beach every day, for hours."

Kate rubbed the space between her eyebrows with her fingertips, letting a sigh funnel through her lips. "I'm not sure I _can_ explain it, Claire, to you or to myself. All that I know is that it's something that I feel compelled to do. There's—" Someone walked past the tent they were sitting under, within earshot of what they were saying, and Kate immediately stopped talking. She pulled Claire in closer, whispering against her cheek.

"There's something out there, in the jungle, that I need to find. I don't know what it is or why or how this is happening to me, but I know that I have to see it through."

Claire didn't question what she was telling her, nor did she challenge it. She followed suit and whispered. "How long will it take you to find…whatever it is you're looking for?"

"I don't know." Kate answered, her eyes darting between the others on the beach and Claire. "It doesn't really work according to any time table. I just leave every day, hoping to find it. I'm getting closer though."

"You said you feel compelled to do this?" Claire asked, still trying to understand what her friend was telling her.

"Yeah. I've felt it ever since my first night back on the beach." Kate searched for the right words, her vocabulary drastically limited, she realized. "It's more like this…_pull_ that I have towards the jungle and it gets stronger the further I trek." Claire's eyes bulged, even wandered a bit, looking away from Kate with blank overwhelmness. She knew how she sounded, and wouldn't have believed this if she were hearing it herself.

Kate scowled. "That sounds crazy, right?"

"Just a little." Claire admitted, the disbelieving look on Kate's face making her chuckle before admitting her true thoughts. "Okay, a lot." They giggled simultaneously.

Underneath the playful rubbing, there was unsettled anxiety for Claire, Kate realized. "You're worried about me." Just like Rose had been, just like Sawyer still was.

"Well, of course I am."She exclaimed. "I don't wanna lose you."

Kate took both of Claire's hands into hers, squeezing them, caressing them. "You won't."

There were tears in her eyes as she said it, her voice straining over the fullness of her heart, over how much she meant to Claire and how much she meant to her. "I'm _always _gonna care, Claire. Even if my head is wrapped around something even I don't understand, nothing can make me stop loving you and Aaron."

She took pause, considering her next words, the rightness of them settling for her. "You're my family." That gloomy, angry cloud that had been hanging over Claire had moved along. She had her best friend back, but she knew that she had to go, and there was no telling when she wouldn't have to leave so much, so often.

Claire rubbed the outside of Kate's hands as she continued to hold to hers. "Promise me you'll be safe out there?"

Kate settled a hand over Claire's shoulder. "I promise."

* * *

><p>The once clear blue sky was now muddled with dark, stormy grays. It had been that way for hours, a storm settling over them like a thunderous blanket. Rain dropped down in a cadenced pitter-patter on the surface of everything in his path. Kate shivered under her wet hooded jacket as she thought about her nice dry tent, and why God was always so cruel to her. She hadn't stopped moving for hours, picking up on what was left of her own trail, the one she left for herself the night before. The faster she moved, the less time she had to spend in the slippery gloom of the jungle. She was bound to hurt herself as she strained to see in front of her; so much for promising Claire that she would be safe. She knew there was always a risk with coming out here alone, she still heard Rose's objections to it, but she just had to.<p>

As Kate wandered off course, her trail completely washed off by the rain, it suddenly stopped, like someone turned the dial of a shower. She paused in her stride, grateful for the sudden change, but also challenged by it. The eerily calm of the jungle was more noticeable now than it was before. It was almost too quiet. The caw of birds was missing, the squeak of tiny insects was absent and the pace of small game under flat leaves and tall grass couldn't be heard either. She was alone more than ever before. She held herself in place, and reached for the handgun she stuffed into the front pocket of her backpack, for easy access. Like the whisper of the wind, she heard faint, but steady twittering, echoing through the dampness. She whipped her head to where the sounds came from and what she saw once the noise drifted drained the blood from her face.

A sketchy dart of black smoke zagged through the trees like flog. She'd seen this before and remembered her heart jumping into her throat and her palms becoming unnervingly sweaty. The Smoke Monster, she thought with periled distress. She knew what she needed to do. She needed to get out of there. Once she actually noticed her surroundings, looking around for the path of her great escape, she realized that she stood in the middle of a wide clearing, completely exposed. There was nowhere to hide. She was in plain sight, ripe for the Monster's picking. Then, she heard a harrowing, terse, bloodthirsty squawk in the near distance that cut right through her surprise and fear. She had to run.

Her legs began to move on out of an autonomic response to fear, pushing her towards a bundle of trees at the bank of the clearing, as fast she could, but not fast enough. As soon as she passed the treeline, she felt the ground quake viciously on the arrival of a loud, earth-shattering explosion, knocking her flat on the ground, her pack falling from her shoulder. She screamed as dirt rained over her. It was the most powerful thing she'd ever experienced. Another thud shook nearby, leaves and brush flattening under the weight of something that had fallen over them. Suddenly she noticed where the tree she just passed once stood was now a gaping hole in the ground. Another tree of the same kind suffered the same fate, projecting from the ground with a dangerously strong energy, and then descending over another bed of shrub, with raucous abandonment. Frightened by what she just saw and the dissonant, deafening choir of grinding and rumbling that literally bounced off of each other, Kate scooted up from her now muddied backside, pushed herself off the ground, grabbed her pack and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

The jungle now bled with booming noises, growling hisses and needle-pitched howls. She couldn't hear her own screams, her own heartbeat, or her own thoughts. No matter how fast and how far she ran, she could still hear the noises all around her. Her boots slid through the muddy terrain, her coordination compromised by the slick slug that she was now caked in. In her blind panic, she saw relief up ahead, a large outlay of bamboo, bundled together tightly. Slipping through the looser stalks, she hadn't noticed that Jack's watch fell from her pants pocket, dropping into a swatch of mud, a corner of its band poking through. She stood back against the stalks like a statue, frozen in hiding. Her eyes closed in relief at her quick thinking, but squinted in scrutiny once she finally noticed the corner of shining sliver poking through the sludge where she came in. She stuck her hand in her pocket and realized that Jack's watch was missing. She immediately bent to the ground and desperately reached for it through the confines of the bamboo, but her fingers, covered in mud, were just inches shy of grabbing it into her palm.

"Come on…" She whispered through a hasty breath, urging herself onward, willing her arm to reach.

She groaned, the muscles in her arm burning dreadfully, but she wouldn't give up. When her fingertips teased the exposed band, she heard and felt earth-shaking stomps in the distance, approaching her, one heavy thump after another, causing her to slip back, her knees too wet, the ground too slippery and unsteady to hold. She stood and moved back into the protection of the bamboo grove, hoping for another chance to reach for it, but afraid to move even an inch. Low, daunting growls came closer, until they were sitting right on top of her. The fear filled her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She didn't know what to do, so she counted.

"_One…Two…Three…_"

Pounding chatters became louder, residual blares resting over fresh, new ones. She looked up, slivers of dreary sky she did see paid her little reprieve. She could get out of this, all she needed to do was control her fear, put it away like she had before time and time before. "_Four…_" Finally, the snarling backed down, faded away as suddenly as the rainy mist had.

"_Five._"

Kate opened her eyes and it was all gone. The Smoke Monster conceded, whisking in another direction, shrill shrieking fading with the black smoke. The turbulent clouds remained, causing shadows to appear in the distance. She stood there for minutes, just to make sure the Monster wasn't hiding itself from her, waiting on her to reveal herself so it could pounce. Eventually, she came out from her hiding place and kneeled in the mud to retrieve the watch. She took a cloth out of her pack and diligently wiped away at the face, praying with all her might that she hadn't broken it. The second-hand still ticked away. It still worked. She sighed a breath of relief. She sat for a moment, taking her time with cleaning it off with gentle strokes, the soppy mud dropping to the ground. Once it was cleaned off, she put it in the front pocket of her pack.

Since coming from the bamboo stand, she looked out at her settings and discovered that this was new, unexplored soil. She had never seen this before, hadn't even begun to assess what could be out here. Granted every leaf looked as green and glistening wet as the last one she saw and other details were familiar, but they didn't feel familiar. It was like she jumped down a rabbit hole and popped up in another world entirely. She was literally drowning in this place. She no longer held the upper hand here, there were no tracks to follow, no landmarks to remind her of where she'd come from, of where she was going. Besides the Smoke Monster's virulent attempt to kill her, nothing had ever made her feel so terrified and isolated.

That eerie, restless feeling returned to her, knocking the wind out of her. She caught her bearings, rose and began walking, her handgun held tightly between her balled fist at her side. She was, somehow, absolutely sure of where she was going, her legs suddenly growing minds and motivations of their own. Shivering cold, she gradually strode through the withering grass. Eventually, she saw something through the thin lining of trees and long vines that tangled between them. From her vantage point, it looked like a shed, an outhouse maybe, a man-made structure for sure, something that didn't belong in such virgin territory. Walking faster, she finally met the structure full-on.

An old, tilting, wooden shack stood before her, garnished with stringy branches full with leaves and bare vines. It looked sinister and daunting, like darkness resided there. She reluctantly, yet curiously and adventurously, approached the cabin. With relief she never thought she would experience in this situation, the pull that left her sleepless and active was its strongest here and so was her feeling of something familiar, even though she'd never seen it before in her life.

This rusting cabin in the middle of nowhere was her anchor, it was what exalted her. She thought it impossible, incomprehensible, that this ramshackle hut was what she needed, but it was. She could feel it with every rattled bone in her quivering body.

She found what she was looking for.

Stepping closer, Kate noticed a ditched, thick line of blackish-gray ash that looped around the entire cabin in a big circle. She stepped back then, deliberating her next move. Obviously someone made it so that this cabin was protected from outsiders. Curiosity beating out her trepidations, she stepped over the ash and moved towards the door. She moved slowly, her gun still tucked in between her fingers, ready to be aimed at any moment. What if someone lived here? She thought to herself. What if she was trespassing? The cabin, from what she saw of it on the outside, was inhospitable, and the black ash circling it like a mystical fence wasn't helping to change her perception, but she had to go in. It was tantamount to breathing. She'd traveled so far for this, risked so much; she had to see this through. Nothing could stop her now.

She walked up the creaking steps of the porch, a lantern hung on a post nearby. Deciding to use her flashlight instead, Kate pulled it out of her pack, and turned it on. The door was wood also, its knob made of a kind of metal, rusting at the bulb. She turned the door knob, and with putting her gun and flashlight in position, she bolted inside the doorframe of the cabin, the creak of the door hinges as her soundtrack. She pointed her gun and her flashlight into the dark spaces of the tent, finding nothing but dirtied walls and spider webbed shelves. No one was inside. The putrefied scent of the place was almost pungent enough to send her back into the jungle, but she ventured onward.

Lowering her weapon, but keeping the flashlight at eye-level and moving it wherever her eyes wandered, Kate studied the contents of the cabin. A few windows, tinted with dirt, offered some source of light, but not much. A faded painting of a dog hung near one window, and the sill of another held jars of some kind of reddish-orange viscous liquid. In the middle of the room stood a wooden table, matched with a rocking chair, both covered in a bed of filth. Nearby were an old sink and an ancient wood-burning stove, sitting directly across from a small bed that sat atop a scrawny tin frame. There was literally nothing salvageable about the place, whoever lived here was long gone with no intent to return.

Disappointed with her discovery, Kate leaned into the wooden table and rubbed at her forehead. The good and bad news dawned on her. The good news was she found what she needed to find, the bad news was that it was this decrepit cabin with nothing but grime holding it together. She stood still for a few minutes, mourning the fact that her reality hadn't met her expectations. Heaving a tired, frustrated breath, she picked herself up and reached for the door knob. As soon as the door released, she heard a soft, ghostly whisper temper with the wind that blew through the open entrance.

"_Kate…_"

She stopped in her tracks and turned back towards the interior quickly, pointing her gun in the direction of the tone, meeting abnormal shadows from the windows, of the trees outside, waving in the breeze, and nothing more. Someone was there. She heard someone say her name. She heard it loud and clear. How was that possible? How was any of this possible? She felt chilled to the bone, absolutely petrified.

She walked a bit further inward, her voice shouting in horror. "Who's there?" Her gun was still pointed, darting to and fro with the glow of her flashlight. She was alone, there was no one else in that cabin with her, but why did it feel like someone was there? Who was calling out to her, and why?

Despite her panic, this voice sounded so familiar, but it gave her little comfort to hear it. Or did she hear it at all? Was this her mind playing tricks on her? Was this a manifestation of her sometimes overactive imagination? Was she so desperate for this place to harbor all of the answers that she imagined hearing what she heard? With no answer and no physical relic of anyone keeping her company, unease filled her, uncertainty plagued her and bewilderment set in like a sickness. She was going crazy, that was the only logical explanation. She knew she had to get away from this place.

She nervously combed a shaky set of fingers through her hair, completely frightened, her chest pushing up and down in labored breathing. She was suddenly dizzy, her gun losing focus in her hand, her vision hazy behind the film of tears in her eyes.

Ineptly backing into the opened door, she ran away as fast as she could.

* * *

><p>The jungle was dark now, the tempestuous clouds moved through, allowing the half moon to bloom. John Locke sat under the light glow of his campfire, in practiced vigil. He threw the rest of his water over the small fire, the flames dying out instantly, and a light twirl of white smoke emanated from the wood that remained. He spent weeks in the jungle, watching, studying patterns and now it was time. He stepped forward, past his campsite and bent to his knee, observing with undivided, unbreakable attention. He kneeled at the edge of a tall hill as he looked down towards his target with a devious glint in his shadowy eyes.<p>

With a panoramic view, high enough to see everything yet far enough away not to be detected by the security detail that were no doubt in place, Locke was overlooking the entire span of the Others' compound. Tiny dots of faint light were sprinkled through the camp, porch-lights that hadn't been turned out and lampposts that illuminated the open courtyards. There was movement, people turning into their homes, walking around and one after another, those tiny dots of light went out, like stars burning absent in the night sky. He could see everything from this position, especially Ben's home, his porch-light still burning bright.

Last time, he made the mistake of evading Ben, of going for his submarine without any thought to him, only to find that he was puppeteer, the man behind the curtain. By going after Ben first, by putting him in a position of fear and desperation, by rendering his security measures useless, he would have no choice but to confess to his devious plot. This was the only way to play it. Keeping his distance was getting him nowhere. He had to move and he had a plan that would guarantee results, granted no one got in his way.

He couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw him again. He wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this one. With what Locke knew now, he finally had the upper-hand. He knew exactly what Ben had done, what he wanted to accomplish and he needed to figure out a way to stop him, and the best way to accomplish that would be to know his overall scheme. Those futile pleas to show him the Island, to give him all the answers he dared to dream of felt all the more deceptive and fake in hindsight. Thank God he hadn't fallen for them, that he decided to venture out and trust his own instincts, instead of that need to know, urge to understand, no matter who was offering the helping hand.

To no avail, he tried to find more temples, artifacts, ancient ruins, anything that could give him more information, but it was as if nothing else existed in that regard. He was still so confused about so much. Jack's role in all of this was still unclear. Why Ben was going through so much trouble to destroy the Island, a place he seemed to care about more than himself, a place that was home for his daughter and so many others he claimed to want to protect. It didn't make sense, but Locke trusted it. There was a twisted logic, a baleful plot embedded within everything Ben did, and watching him bid Jack farewell on that dock was his perverse reasoning hard at work. He had to be out of his mind to have come back here, but this wasn't a mission without meticulous merit and guided purpose, this was about what the Island wanted, what Jacob asked of Ben and was denied.

He thought about the people who could get caught in the crossfire. He thought about Alex, that poor girl, so desperate for freedom that she thought of him as her way out. The irony of it hadn't been lost on him. He wasn't a safe alternative to her father; he was more reckless than he'd ever been. He was back at the scene of his last crime, and he was ready to cause more damage. He didn't want her anywhere near this, but he found that as Ben's daughter, there was no way around involving her; there was no way for him to guarantee to himself that she wouldn't get hurt any more than she already has been. He found that he cared about her, but he couldn't allow that to distract him from what he came to do. He couldn't allow Ben to destroy the Island.

He could still hear Christian in his head, echoing, pressing.

'_As of right now, your focus is Benjamin, in what his next move will be, what he's planning, because Jacob knows that he has a plan. He always has a plan._'

Locke readied himself while he continued to pay close attention to the outline of the compound. He assessed his handgun's clip, making sure the right amount of ammunition was in place. He didn't anticipate shooting anyone, but he would without hesitation if anyone got in his way. He shoved the clip back into the handgun's handle with his palm. His knife sat at his waist where it always had, sharp and pointed. He stood, tugging at his backpack's strap, easing it over his shoulder.

He backed away from his perch on the hill, crouching low, and trekked behind trees that hid him from view, determined more than ever to reach Ben and thwart his plan once and for all.


	12. Home Is Where The Heart Is

_**You guys are awesome, those of you who have come with me this far, also those who are just now discovering my stories. Thank you.**_

* * *

><p>The hazy, dark irises of Jack's eyes came into view when he awoke suddenly, his eyelids popping open. He was sprawled out on his couch, one of his legs dangled off the edge while his head relaxed on the arm rest, a tank-top sticking to his sweaty chest and jeans bunched around his waist. He looked down at himself and realized how completely wasted he was. He was drunk, and had been for quite awhile. He could barely see past his bare foot that lay atop the arm rest at the other end of the couch and he had a splitting headache.<p>

The sun was setting outside of his balcony window, city lights glowed within his apartment, the desk lamp, which now sat on the floor where he worked over the maps and atlases that brought him no closer to his desired destination, supplied little light in the darkening space. He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable again, but tucked by his side was an empty glass bottle, that had been buried under his arm. He pulled it out by its slender neck, and looked at it fuzzily. It was empty, every drop pulled from it. Had he actually drank the entire bottle? He didn't have a coherent answer to that question, which meant he had. He threw the glass bottle it to the floor, his hand now lying over the pillow that must have fallen from the couch during his slumber. No wonder there was a bulging cramp in his neck.

He groaned into an upright position, both bare feet on the floor, his headache ripping a hole straight through his skull like the precise efficacy of a buzzing power drill, or at least that was what it felt like. He rubbed at the back of his neck, and then rubbed at the ball of his head, the tangle of his hair pulled free by his long fingers. The state of his apartment looked like a tornado touched down and wrecked shop. Dirty dishes of weeks' past sat in the kitchen sink, some with food on them still, empty bottles clogging what space was left. His dining room table was cluttered with books and papers. Everywhere he looked was a disaster zone.

Once he started to become aware, he realized why he wasn't so content with sleep anymore. He saw her in his mind's eye, running through the jungle again, but this time, she wasn't running with directional purpose, she was running for her life. He remembered the noises that the jungle made, the power of the ground as it shook, then she disappeared, and he couldn't stay connected, because she was gone. He heard those noises before, feared them, and ran from them, more than once. He was absolutely ready to believe that these visions, images, these dreams or whatever his mind decided they were, were real. Kate was in danger, she had gotten herself into a situation that he wasn't there to protect her from, and now he was being haunted by it, every time he closed his eyes. Sleep was supposed to help him escape his troubles, but in the chasm of the dream space, anything could slip through, even that which made him crazier by the day.

He replayed in his head what he told Juliet, what he bared of his soul to her, that he no longer belonged here, that he hadn't felt like he was home yet, and that his life as he knew it wasn't what he thought it was anymore. He had no idea what that meant, but as he assiduously poured himself over the maps, his mind restless with determination to find the Island at all costs, he felt like he was reaching an understanding of his confliction .

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle, looking forlornly at the faint orange body and the securely-sealed top that hadn't been broken. There were sixteen little, white pebble-sized pills and every day, he counted them, as if taking inventory. It was a daily battle not to open it and take one pill, maybe two, or three to shave the rest of the edge away, but for some reason, he resisted. He wouldn't open it, even in moments like these, when he woke up shaken by another trance, filled with the truth of the woman he loved in great danger, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

What he had done to get his hands on these pills was punishable by law, but he didn't care. The alcohol wasn't working, it wasn't taking away the pain, the restlessness, not all of it at least; it was actually exacerbating the symptoms of his insanity. What was in this bottle would put him into a sleep that nothing could disturb, or at least that was what he told himself when relief at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey served little effect. Claire and Aaron were new sources of hurt and guilt. She was his sister, the sister his father never bothered to tell him about, the sister who coincidently boarded the same plane he had, eight months pregnant and alone. That little baby boy was his nephew, and he never knew it until it was too late. They were his family and he never knew about them, he never had the chance to embrace them as such. It had been taken away from him, like everything else.

A part of him was still pissed at Juliet for keeping something this important away from him, but it was never her place to tell him. She hoisted that responsibility onto herself, but really, his father was the only one responsible for his ignorance. He was the only one responsible for shutting his own son out of his life.

Jack wanted to believe that Christian's heart attack was accidental, that his father hadn't seen it coming and died with the thriving will to live, but he couldn't believe that to be true. His father wanted to die, and that decision was just as selfish and inconsiderate as all the other decisions he made, and what he did, what he felt he had to do, was what led him to it. This was the truth that he kept to himself, from his mother especially, who still thought of her husband as someone who could never take his own life. She wasn't strong enough for the truth; she wasn't even strong enough to realize that he never wanted to be his father and never would.

An idea that had been long-standing in his mind trickled in again. He wondered just how many pills he could take to go to sleep and never wake up. He calculated the dosage in his head, but decided that downing a little less than half the count would do it. Slowly, he twisted the top off of the pill bottle, breaking the safety seal. He poured five pills into his palm and stared at them, tears of madness in his eyes. If he did this, that was it. He would die, but the conundrum of who in the world he actually was, wouldn't matter. He could finally rest. Before he could pour the pills into his mouth, there was a knock at his door.

"Jack?" He heard someone call out, punctuating his name with another knock. "Jack, please open the door. It's Juliet."

Silently swearing, he hurriedly poured the pills back into the bottle, twisted the top shut and shoved it into his pocket. She knocked again, this time, harder. "I know you're in there. Your truck is out front."

Before Jack could stand, Juliet turned the doorknob and walked in, surprised that the door was even unlocked to begin with. Her eyes immediately connected with Jack, and she mentally gasped. He looked terrible, bloodshot eyes holding up heavy bags underneath, grimy tank-top stuck to his torso, his hair a lengthy, matted mess, and the growth on his face had sprouted into the beginnings of a scraggly beard, uneven and untamed. His apartment was a wasteland, crinkled maps scattered all over the floor, glass bottles were sprinkled about, one at his feet. It had been a week since she last saw him and he managed to look like it had been months.

He cupped his forehead into his hands, embarrassed, not looking at her, but addressing her all the same. "What are you doing here?" The look on her face was the reason why he stayed in his apartment, he didn't want people to look at him the way she was right thing second, with sadness and pity. He didn't want to be pitied. He hated it.

Juliet stuttered, her eyes still taking in his lonely, dark, cluttered surroundings. "I…um…I wanted to check up on you." She finally said once her breath caught up with her. She closed the door behind her, locking it. "You haven't been answering any of my calls, not that I would expect you to." She looked over at the table where the landline sat, the answering machine blinking the number '_23_' in bleeding red. He wasn't answering anyone's calls by the looks of it.

He was still holding his head, trying to stop it from spinning, still sick with worry for Kate, who could be dead for all he knew or understood about what he kept seeing. "I've been busy." Trashing his apartment and his life apparently, Juliet thought. He finally met her eyes. "Is that all?"

"No, that's not all." Her tone was indignant, upset. She shook her head, shocked that he would think that was all after finding him sitting in his own squalor. "I'm worried about you."

He looked up at her, and continued to play the tough guy act. "As you can see I'm fine. So you can just—"

"You're not fine, Jack." Juliet erupted, so irritated with him, she could barely stand it. "You're falling apart and I just want to—"

Jack just wanted her gone; his temper exploded, his voice bellowed, cutting her off. "Haven't you done enough?" His loudness caused him to shrink into himself, his hands holding to his head again, his hangover rattling in his ears. For a second, he forgot what state he was in.

Juliet crushed under his words. She hadn't done enough. She hadn't told her friend the truth, and she never prided herself on being a liar, she just had to become one in order to survive working for Ben, to survive what he put her through.

"I'm so sorry." Those words still felt extremely inadequate, but she had no idea what else to say, what else to do. She walked towards the couch, and sat a safe distance away from him. "I should have told you about Claire and Aaron, I just…panicked." He knew that to be true, he could hear the sincerity in her voice, despite wanting her to leave him alone. He knew she wouldn't, not after seeing him like this. "I had been waiting for so long to get off that Island and I saw my opportunity and I just, froze."

He let go of his head, his hands resting on the hump of his bent knees. "It's not your fault." He uneasily rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, wiping the nervous sweat from them. "If that file about me was as accurate and as in depth as you make it out to be, then you know why my father was in Australia in the first place."

He looked over at her, the glow of the lamp at their feet shadowy over his stiff brow. "He should have told me, but he didn't want to, he never wanted me to know," Jack turned toward the floor, suddenly ashamed, "and why would he? I betrayed his trust. I ruined his life."

Juliet tried to make him understand. "Jack, you—"

"I took his career away from him, Juliet." His voice rose, menacing, slightly mellowed by the alcohol still flowing through his system.

His hands combed through his hair, both landing on his neck, massaging that kink out of the muscles there. "Forty years of his blood, sweat and tears and I took it away just like that." He snapped his fingers, emphasizing the rapidity of what he'd done, how fast he ripped away everything his father knew himself to be in the world. "His medical license is nothing more than a piece of paper because of what I did to him and I can't even say that I did it for the greater good, or that it wasn't about punishing him."

"I didn't want to see him get away with it, but I could have…" Jack stuttered, his voice slurring, trailing. He honestly didn't know what else he could have done. He tried siding with his father, he tried burying what he knew, but in the end, his conscience always caught up with him, held him in place with nowhere to run. He was beginning to realize that was a very important part of who he was and what differed between the two of them.

"Your father performed surgery while under the influence. He killed a woman and her unborn child." Juliet angled towards him, watching as he continued to mentally beat himself down. "There was no win in that situation, Jack. You couldn't save the patients and you couldn't save him."

He noticed that Juliet said _patients_. She saw the fetus as a human being too, as a patient that needed his help, and why wouldn't she? She was a fertility specialist, a damn good one, one of the best, if not _the_ best; she believed that life began months before the first breath, at conception. It would have been helpful to know that the patient was pregnant before he ever scrubbed in to save his father from the embarrassment that he was sure to suffer through in front of his surgical underlings, from people who looked up to him as a god among surgeons, among men. It would have saved him so much regret.

She still didn't understand, Jack realized. "Don't you get it? I took away who he was. I didn't even _try_ to save him." Tears glazed over his wide eyes, one falling down his cheek. "I threw him away, and now he's gone."

Juliet didn't know what to say, she didn't know what to do to help him. She felt so powerless, watching this good, kind, decent man crumble into shards of guilt that he shouldn't own, that shouldn't belong to him. Jack stared at a spot in the near-distance, mesmerized by the reflection of faint, dim lights bleeding into the room from his balcony window. "I killed him, Juliet." Tears welled in her eyes, her head shaking, denying for him.

"I killed my father." God, it felt so good to say out loud, he thought. To finally say it to someone, to anyone who wouldn't think him crazy, who wouldn't judge him.

Only now did Juliet truly understand what getting back to that Island meant to him. It was a way for him to redeem himself. If he can save those people, it would be like saving his father. He would come to his long-awaited resolution. His father's body was still on that Island as well, and for Jack, going back to the place where he physically lost his father might help him find him again.

"You wanna know what he used to say to me?" Jack asked, not waiting for Juliet's answer before he went on. "_'You don't have what it takes, son. Don't try to save everyone.' _" He let go of an irreverent, sloppy chortle at his spot-on impression of his father's condescension. "I carried that around with me my whole life and I wanted _nothing_ more than to prove him wrong."

Juliet nodded sadly. This was what he was killing himself trying to do now, save everyone from that island, a place she wouldn't wish on her mortal enemy. He was trying to be the hero that everyone knew him to be, that he denied ever being, not because he wanted to be, but because it was who he was; he couldn't help it. She picked up one of the maps that sat in a random heap at her feet. It was a broad map of the South Pacific Islands, numbers and lines written all over it in pencil, more than a dozen eraser markings faded the light blue ink of the water, almost to the point of it never having been there at all.

"Still no luck, huh?"

"Nope." Jack sighed, his response exaggeratedly garbled, resigning himself to another failure, his father's ignored advice coming back to bite him where he lived. "I guess the old man was right after all. Don't try to be a hero."

With that, Jack tried to stand, and finally got on his feet, but fumbled, not sober enough to take two steps before losing his balance. Juliet was by his side in time to catch him and direct him back to the couch where they both landed haphazardly, suddenly tangled up in each other. She laughed nervously, looking to untangle them, but Jack held to her. He stared at her with those miserable, emotive golden eyes of his that could say so much and she could read where this was going. Before she could say anything or at least object, his lips were on hers. She was completely frozen as he continued his light, airy assault, but once he deepened the kiss, opening his mouth slightly over hers, she felt tingles cascade down her spine to the tips of her toes. Despite her best efforts to resist him, she closed her eyes and kissed him back, her lips parting, pulling, her hand cupping his jaw, his fuzzy growth tickling her palm. There was the faintest bite of alcohol that she could smell and taste, but the rest was just him, just Jack, and she dove in.

Eventually, she opened her eyes. She wasn't sure who was taking more advantage of whom here, but this wasn't how their first kiss was supposed to happen. They were supposed to be dating, casually of course, discovering what they could be together and then the first kiss came when it was mutual and right, not when he was so drunk in his sorrows that he latched onto her as the only thing keeping him afloat. That wasn't how it worked. He was still in love with Kate; he all but shouted it from her apartment window the last time they spoke, and she couldn't tuck that away, or ignore that salient fact, no matter how good it felt to be kissed by him, to be the center of his attention. He was physically wasted, emotionally confused and vulnerable; there was no way he was thinking clearly.

Her worst fears were realized when he pulled away, his eyes looking straight through hers, glassy, cloudy, searching, trying to find something in them that he recognized, that he truly wanted. When his lips met hers, he didn't feel that verve of electricity shoot through him, the hairs on the back of his neck didn't stand up, he couldn't hear his pulse quicken or the blood pump through him just a little faster than normal, adrenaline like he never experienced kicking his emotions into overdrive. Maybe it was the fact that he was so inebriated that he could barely take two steps forward without flailing, but he knew that was just an excuse.

He realized, with deft, yet clumpy perception, that she wasn't Kate, and she never would be. She was Juliet, and the two were as different as night and day. One drove him so mad that he reached for her in places she never was. The other was someone he wanted to feel those things for, but realized pretty early on that he never would, that no matter how much he wanted to get over someone else, his heart wouldn't allow it. He was drunk as hell, but he knew that.

Fatigue suddenly drained him of thought and emotion. "I'm so tired." He whispered before yawning. That wasn't what she was expecting him to say, but she recovered smoothly, smiling faintly.

"Then go to sleep, Jack." She helped him rise a little, but he wasn't budging much for her to really help. "Come on." She whispered, and he cooperated. She got him comfortable on the couch again, placing the pillow under his head and pulling his feet up, draping the blanket over him. When she looked up at him after tucking the blanket over his bare feet, he was fast asleep. Sadness built inside of her. She knew what he was thinking after that kiss and watching him sleep was all that stopped the tears from falling down her eyes, but eventually the tide washed up and over and she found herself crying more for him than her hurt feelings. He was in such emotional disarray that she concluded that there was nothing she could do for him. She wasn't sure there was anything anyone could do.

She didn't leave him alone right away, eventually finding a piece of paper and a pen to write with. She tucked the note into his hand and walked towards the door, locking it back, and closing it quietly behind her.

* * *

><p>Sawyer stood at the blazing heat of a bonfire, one of many that sprinkled the beach around this time. Sunset drifted away, leaving the sky dark and sparkling with stars, as round and clear as diamonds. He saw Sayid walking across the fire-lit sand, past where he was standing and he moved quickly to catch up with him.<p>

"Hey." Sawyer said in way of getting Sayid's attention. "We need to talk."

"I can't imagine what about." Sayid said, continuing to walk towards his destination.

Sawyer whispered, "We need to talk about Kate."

Sayid stopped in his tracks. He turned back to Sawyer, curious. "What about her, James?" Sawyer gestured towards a vacant spot nearby, encouraging Sayid to follow him. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Sawyer got down to business.

"Don't tell me you don't notice it." He accused with his natural surly tone. "She's been leavin' the beach every mornin' before sunrise and comin' back a little before sundown. What the hell is she doin' out there in the jungle by herself?"

Sayid shrugged his shoulders, unsure of why Sawyer was bothering him with this. "If you want to know James, why don't you just ask her?"

"I tried that already, and it's like pullin' damn teeth." Sawyer said in aggravation. Sayid could tell that this was really worrisome for him, so worrisome, that he was humbling himself by confiding in him about it. They were never friends exactly, but a mutual respect grew between them somehow, after that tumultuous start they had after the crash. That was what Sawyer did, he made people hate him and then he surprised them with small, random windows into his humanity, until those around him had no choice but to admire him.

"She won't say anything about it to me." He admitted.

Sawyer's words were suggestive enough, catching Sayid off guard. "Oh, you think I can get it out of her?"

"You were a torturer in another life, right?" Sawyer pointed out, with a disposition of both veneration and derision. "I got to experience that firsthand in case you forgot."

Sayid took a defensive pose, his hands sat on his narrow hips and his dark eyes looked even darker, sinister almost in the glow of the fire. That burning urge to punch Sawyer in the face reignited. "In case _you've_ forgotten, you never had what I was looking for in the first place."

He was confused by what Sawyer was getting to. "What do you want from me, James?"

Sawyer whistled a breath between his teeth. "Look, I just need an ally. Someone who don't annoy her as much as I seem to these days."

Sayid shook his head in resistance. "Kate and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, especially since I don't agree with her about Jack and admitted it openly in front of the entire group." He admitted. "She feels as though I've betrayed her."

"She and I ain't on speaking terms either, but that's beside the point." Sawyer confessed. "I don't want you to talk it out of her; I want you to help me _stop_ her."

Now Sayid was terribly confused. "What makes you think Kate can be stopped from doing anything she wants to do? I was there with her James, when she trekked for days, for miles to get to Jack, and she wouldn't let anything or anyone get in her way."

Sawyer retorted immediately, his patience with Sayid's attempt to derail his plan waning. "What she's doin' is crazy. Ever since the Doc left, she's been different, always moving, more than she usually does. Wandering off in the jungle by herself is suicide."

Sayid eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure this isn't about something else?" He asked. He had to be blind not to see that Sawyer loved Kate, and was growing irritated by her lack of attention towards him. The conman seemed confident about his courting skills, flirting with every female besides Rose, who taught him a sound lesson and wouldn't take being disrespected by someone half her age, but Kate was less than interested in most things, especially him. It was bruising to his ego.

"What else would this be about?" Sawyer asked briskly and very unconvincingly, but sounding as offended by Sayid's accusation as he needed to sound. "The more she leaves this beach, the more danger she brings to herself and the rest of us."

"What do you mean?" Sayid asked.

"The Others, Sayid." Sawyer drawled out as if it should be common knowledge in their neck of the woods. "You think they just folded up their tents and booby traps and hiked on back across the water? You think they're ever gonna leave us alone?" Sayid always had his fears that Ben would return and ask something of them that they couldn't do or just take whatever and whomever he wanted by force. It wouldn't be the first time.

"They're still out there, watching us, and you know it." Sawyer said, seeing the change in Sayid's eyes, the conviction. "They killed Locke from what you told us and if they grab Kate, worse yet, kill her, that's on us for not protecting her."

Sayid still wasn't sure of what to do. He has had a front row seat to Kate's stubbornness and if she couldn't get in through the front door, she would always plan on going through the back. "All I'm sayin' is that with Jack M.I.A., somebody's gotta step up and make the tough decisions, and it starts with telling Kate what she don't wanna hear."

"When you say somebody, you mean _me_." Sayid accused. "I have to tell Kate what she doesn't want to hear."

Sawyer pointed between the two of them. "I mean _us_. Together, she wouldn't have no room for argument."

Sayid weighed his offer carefully, but Sawyer needed an answer immediately. "Now, are you in or do I need to go have a little chat with Bernard, who's too sweet on Freckles to ever raise his voice at her?"

* * *

><p>The office cabin in the Others' compound was empty except for Ben's office, as he sat behind his desk; a desk lap was the only light source in the room. He studied old, tattered maps diligently, with a magnifying glass in one hand and a black pencil in the other. There were pages and pages of ancient maps of the Island that were entrusted to him by Richard, who found little use for them since so much had changed since they were charted, but Ben found them to be crucial to his plans. He spent so much time sifting through them, studying them, drawing lines from one to the other that every time he didn't find what he was looking for, the effort seemed wasted.<p>

It had to be there somewhere. Where was it?

He heard a small clang nearby, something falling to the floor with a clank, or a door clapping shut perhaps. Ben looked towards his closed office door, his eyes scrutinizing, his heart rate jumping.

"Hello? Anyone there?" He yelled. There was no answer, his voice bouncing off the walls in an echo.

He shook his head, telling himself that it was probably their rodent issue from months back, a mice scattering through the hallway in search of food or something. These older buildings that were here longer than the townhomes were sometimes ravaged with rodents of all kinds, mice, skunks, squirrels. It was a nuisance, but nothing that Ben couldn't work through. Their community was this bubble in the middle of a jungle after all. There was wildlife all around them, and it was something they couldn't avoid.

Ben lost his concentration when he suddenly heard the creek of footsteps against the old oak floors behind his door. They approached slowly, and with every step, his pulse raced. Scared out of his mind, Ben dropped the pencil and ruler and quietly opened the drawer next to him, pulling out a hand-gun with sweaty palms. Every possible scenario ran through his mind, but the worst of them all popped up and terrified. On legs that were still working through physical therapy, he rose, taking the handle of his cane in one hand, his gun steadfastly shaped to his other, pointed towards the door. He marched for the door, and whispered a prayer before he opened it, leaving it slightly ajar. He pointed his gun towards the area where the buzzing light above illuminated, the rest of the hallway dark and shadowy.

"I know you're out there!" Ben yelled, from the crack of his office door, his gun poised, aiming. "I'm armed and I'm not afraid to shoot! So, show yourself!"

The footsteps pattered against the floor again, creeping, still slow and methodical, until the person those footsteps belonged to was flooded by light. The man held his hands up in the air, but Ben was no longer afraid. He couldn't believe his eyes. He immediately dropped his gun, and opened his door fully. It was like he was seeing a ghost.

"Oh my God. Mikhail?" Ben whispered, still in a trance of complete unbelieveability.

Mikhail lowered his hands, his bloody, sweaty, grimy appearance bringing a wealth of elation to his boss. "Hello Benjamin." His thick Russian accent was heavy under labored breathing. He stumbled forward, tiredly, his balance struggling.

Ben still stood in amazement, but moved to catch him, ushering Mikhail into his office once the shock of seeing him, alive, dialed down. "How the hell did you get past my security?" He asked, as he helped Mikhail into a seated position

"I used to be head of security, remember?" Mikhail recalled, grunting. "Before you assigned me to the Flame station."

"A lot has changed since then, Mikhail." Ben informed him.

"They found you, didn't they?" Mikhail asked, it unnecessary to elaborate on who he was referring to.

Ben nodded. "Yes, they did." The two men eyed each other. Ben still couldn't believe it. Locke assured him that Mikhail was dead, he practically boasted about having done it, but he obviously wasn't dead. He was sitting right in front of him, eye-patch and all.

Ben shook his head, his eyes still studying him. Dried blood was all over his shirt, and he looked sun-burned, his skin reddened and peeling. "I thought you were dead. How did you survive?"

"Where is he?" Mikhail asked with a growl, getting to the point without a beat.

Ben straightened, taking the handle of his cane to anchor himself. "Where's who?"He asked, despite the fact that he knew exactly who he was referring to.

Mikhail's only functioning eye looked up at Ben with blood-thirsty rage. "John Locke." He spoke with disdain, his teeth gnashing. "He did this to me, and I won't rest until he's dead."

Ben knew that he wouldn't like what he was about to admit, but there was no way around it. "John Locke is very much alive, but he has to stay that way." The annoyance in Mikhail's features was evident. Ben spoke again, quickly, as to appease his friend.

"But don't you worry; I have a plan that will hurt John Locke more than death ever could, and I'm gonna need your help." Mikhail grinned, his lips curling up into a satisfied smirk. Ben had a plan, he thought, he always had a plan.

"Will you help me, Mikhail?" Ben asked.

The answer was obvious, Mikhail's grin graduating into an illustrious, cunning smile.

"Absolutely."


	13. The Letter

_**God, so sorry for the delay. I got some bad news that really distracted me from continuing with this story, but I'm back. I hope you're still here, readers! A very long one ahead, folks. Expect the intrigue and the plot to thicken just a little! We're on our way to the big stuff! I promise.**_

* * *

><p>Jack awoke with a slight start. He stirred, his eyelids opening slowly, and he realized that he was right where he remembered collapsing the night before, on his couch. His memories of last night were hazy at best and he had this sinking feeling that something happened that he was supposed to remember, but couldn't. He threw the blanket from his legs and sat up slowly, and noticed the hard wood floors that he rarely saw for all the trash and maps that were once scattered all over the place. Within the bundled fabric of the blanket next to him, he noticed a corner of a piece of paper sticking out. He picked it up and unfolded it, reading the neat handwriting with ease.<p>

_Jack,_

_Sorry I couldn't stay until you woke up, but I had an early morning consult that I couldn't miss. I tidied up the apartment, thought it might help your state of mind, give you some clarity. I don't know what else I can do for you, to help you, so I've decided to step away, and give you the space you need._

_Good luck Jack. I hope you find what you're looking for._

_Juliet_

That was what he had forgotten. Juliet was there. They were talking and…and…he found that he couldn't figure out the rest, the holes in his memory between talking to her and falling asleep remained empty. He immediately reached for his cell phone, desperate to call her and figure out what happened, and why it was so abundantly clear from her note that she wasn't telling him everything, better yet, why she suddenly decided to distance herself from him, especially after hounding him for a week to talk to her. He waited through the voicemail greeting and cleared his throat before speaking, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

"Hey Juliet, it's Jack. I got your note, and," he took a breath, unsure of how to articulate himself, "if I did something or said something to upset you, I'm really, really sorry. I understand why you can't be around me right now, but please know that I uh," his voice broke away, sadness clinging to every word, "appreciate all that you've done for me. Thank you for cleaning up, you didn't have to do that. I hope to hear from you soon. Bye."

He hung up then, pivoting the side of the phone against his mouth as he became engulfed in the silence of his apartment. He just might have lost the only friend he had left and he couldn't stand the thought of it.

He rose with a screaming headache, far from merciful, and stumbled towards the kitchen, finding the once cluttered sink and counter completely cleared, the recycle bin full of glass beer and wine bottles, and the trash can full to the brim. Had he actually accumulated that much debris and had gone completely unnoticed for so long? He prepped the coffee pot, replacing the old filter with a new one, filling it with his favorite roast and turning it to the proper settings. The low buzz of it was sweet music to his ears. He moved towards his bedroom and bathroom slowly, his head threatening to explode with every step.

His bathroom, surprisingly, hadn't been destroyed like the rest of his apartment had, probably because he never went in there except for when nature called. He got a good look at himself in the mirror and mentally cringed. His eyes might as well have been closed, because the bright light of the vanity only made his head hurt, so he squinted. Large, droopy bags under his eyes seeped into his upper cheeks, aging him considerably. The lack of sleep had caught up with him. That stubborn cow-lick at his hairline had grown even more mulish and untamable as he let his hair grow out. Quite frankly, he looked like hell. No wonder Juliet took one look at him and tears sprouted to her eyes. He barely recognized himself. The man who stared into that mirror more than a month ago was far from who stood there now.

He scratched at the growth on his face, and as his body shifted, he felt the small bottle in his pocket, reminding him that he had put it there before Juliet burst through the door. He reached in for it, the light rattle of the pills inside brought back memories of last night. He was going to take them, and let himself go, but a knock on the door stopped him. Juliet stopped him, but there was no one here to stop him now. He stood tall over the sink and opened the bottle, greeted by the pills that seemed to have all the answers just a short while ago. Now, they didn't comfort him at all, they only reminded him of how much he failed, and how much he wanted to give up.

In the periphery was the sink's drain. All he had to do was dump them and they'd be gone, out of his space, out of his mind, but he couldn't, because there was still a part of him that needed them, a part of him that wanted to rest, and wouldn't be able to until he took them and faded to black. He realized with deft reality that he'd be no better than his father if he did that, if he left the ones he loved behind by acting selfishly, by thinking only of himself and his own pain. That wasn't who he was. He didn't know much, but he knew that.

He could hear his heart pumping in his ears, the need for numbness, for release to take hold. He gripped the sides of the counter and fought against it, taking practiced breaths in and out. He rocked the bottle ever so slightly in his fingertips, tilting it towards the drain and back, back and forth. He did that for what felt like hours, slipping the bottle further and further towards the drain, until he watched every single pill tapper down into the tiny hole. He straightened while turning on the faucet, letting the cold water heat up and push the pills away. He cupped his hands under the streaming water and splashed it over his face, and repeated the action once more, coating his wild hair with cool water, letting it drip down his neck and shoulders.

There was a knock at his front door. He reached for a towel and wiped at his face and hair while making his way towards the living area, his head still pounding, but not as much as it had before. He opened it after the second knock, to someone he had never met before in his life. A man of moderate, almost frail build, early thirties, dark eyes, long, scraggly brown hair, and a shaggy goatee stood at his doorstep. The man smiled widely, his eyes hopeful.

"Hello, are you Jack Shephard?" The man asked eagerly.

Jack ignored his question, looking the man up and down. "Who wants to know?"

"Uh, I'm Dr. Daniel Faraday." He extended his hand, but Jack didn't take it. He pulled his hand back with another smile, not fazed by the unwelcomed attitude Jack oozed. He expected as much. "I've come here to—"

Jack, having realized that he said 'doctor', sucked in an aggravated breath, mumbling underneath it. "How many times is the hospital gonna send someone to my front door?" He spoke up then, his stance defensive and annoyed. "Look, for the very _last_ time, I am not interested in the Chief of Surgery position and I would appreciate it if—"

"Wait, what?" Faraday asked, genuinely confused, then he understood the misunderstanding. "Oh, oh no. I don't work for any hospital. I have a Ph.D., a few actually." There was a beat before he spoke again. "I'm a scientist. A physicist to be exact."

"A physicist, huh?" Jack looked disbelievingly, unsure of why a scientist was knocking at his door. "What do you want from me?"

"Actually Jack, it's not what I want _from_ you, it's what I can _help_ you with." Faraday admitted.

Jack, intrigued, asked the appropriate follow-up. "And what exactly are you here to help me with, Dr. Faraday?"

He sucked in a shaky, excited breath, having waited a considerable amount of time to say this. He clamped his hands together, his head tilted, his voice precariously low, but stern.

"I'm here to help you find the Island."

* * *

><p>Richard sat at the desk in his tent, hunched over in the chair he sat in, the glasses that sat over the bridge of his nose slipping. Long tweezers slithered through the slender neck of a glass bottle, revealing a miniature sailing ship, encapsulated by the clear glass. With dexterous ease, Richard maneuvered the tweezers and adjusted one of the fragile sails that had collapsed, its crinkled fabric straightened, holding to the tiny hook. It was finally complete and it was perfect.<p>

This was his favorite hobby; it was the only thing that truly calmed him, something that he could do for countless hours at a time and never come up for air. It was high afternoon, the sweltering heat radiating through the camp. Thirsty, and realizing that his coffee cup was empty, he ventured out into the camp. People were darting to and fro, sitting around in congregation and busying themselves with the maintenance of their little community. Richard stopped at a table and took a tin pitcher by the handle, pouring water into his cup. He took a drink, soothing his parched throat, when he heard someone speak to him.

"I thought you'd never come out of there." A gruff tone said snippily. He turned to the tall, demanding presence of Tom, who wore a gnarly, teasing grin. Richard still didn't understand why he was here, but he had the suspicious feeling that he did know, but it wouldn't matter. Tom would never tell him what Ben was planning, or preemptively preventing.

"I guess I got caught up." Richard took another drink from his coffee cup, savoring the cool, crisp taste. He looked over to Tom again, smiling playfully. "Ben send you here to keep tabs on me?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "You know Ben, if he could be two places at once, he would, and I'd be on my porch back at the barracks reading the morning paper." He griped, never having felt comfortable in the Hostiles' camp. "I gotta tell you though, these tents are the most uncomfortable things I've ever slept in. I miss my bed. My back can't take much more of this." He laughed heartily, bringing his cup to his lips again for another long gulp.

Richard, with a distrustful air, his ears perking at what Tom just said, or what he didn't realize he'd admitted, decided to speak again. "So you're here to spy on the camp for Ben?"

Tom's smile turned into a defensive frown. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Richard snipped back, edgy and defensive in his own right. "He's expecting Locke to come back, isn't he? And he sent you in case he does."

Tom wore his poker face well, not rising to anger at Richard's accusations, even if they were true, which they were. "Like I said, you know Ben." His voice was calm and brisk, taunting, but stern in his defense. That was all that Richard or anyone would get out of him, and he had no problem with their feeble attempts to try. Richard relented, scoffing as he took another drink from his cup.

"You think Ben did the right thing?" Tom asked, honestly curious.

"About what?" Richard asked, startled by the question, because he had never seen such uncertainty in Tom's eyes, such disharmony with what Ben thought was best for all of them.

"Letting John Locke live." Tom elaborated. "Because, between you and me, I think that the Boss should have killed him when he had the chance."

Hmm, Richard thought. This was the first time he ever heard Tom outright disagree with a decision that Ben has made. It was refreshing, because he found himself questioning Ben more and more these days. "Well, between you and me, I think that Ben did what he thought was best, but I'm not so sure his intentions were genuine."

"What do you mean by that?" Tom asked, validly interested.

Richard stepped in closely, his voice below a whisper. "There is something that Ben is afraid of Locke finding out about, and he let him go to show everyone else that he doesn't care about what he does next, but you and I know different."

Richard continued to pour out his thoughts, having held them in for so long that it felt good to tell someone. He looked over his shoulder. "John Locke knows something. I can't explain or even comprehend how he could, but I feel like…" He looked up to Tom, who was suddenly catatonic, staring off into the distance, his mouth falling open. He turned to where Tom's eyes were glued, his expression falling between confusion and awe.

"Well, I'll be damned." Tom mumbled, a smile curled up on his lips at the sight. Ben, pivoted by a cane that literally sparkled in the sunlight, walked with a methodical, practiced stride. Mikhail, who followed close behind him, stepped into the circle of the camp, everyone literally stopping to watch them pass, murmuring.

"Hello, Richard. Tom." Ben acknowledged both men once he reached them, Tom more excited to see Ben than Richard, who still watched with shock that hadn't worn down.

"Good to see you, Boss." Tom chimed with a smile. "Nice legs." Against his will, Ben chuckled, happier than he thought he would be to see his old friend. He turned to Richard, stretching his hand to him in a solid attempt at a greeting.

"Ben." Richard took his hand, letting it go after a firm shake. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."

"Well, you can clearly see why I had to expedite our reunion." Ben said slyly, gesturing to Mikhail, who has risen from the grave as far as everyone understood. Richard nodded, still battling the shock of seeing the man alive after Locke so arrogantly boasted about having killed him. He wondered now. Was Locke lying about killing Mikhail to hurt Ben, or had he actually believed that he'd ended his life? The conviction in Locke's eyes told a story, a very clear, decisive story. He believed that he'd killed him. It wasn't a game. Richard didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

He couldn't help the next bit that fell out of his mouth. "Are you sure that coming here was a good idea, Ben? You're recovering from major sur—"

"I've been recovering for weeks now Richard, and my legs are pretty much back to normal." Ben interrupted stubbornly, tired of everyone treating him like tempered glass. "Besides, we need to talk." He moved aside, clearing a path for Richard to lead him out of earshot of the others. "Shall we?"

Richard chuckled wryly, setting his coffee cup down, looking between Tom, Ben and Mikhail. "If you insist, right this way." He gestured towards his tent as he walked ahead, leading the way.

Once they were in the confines of the tent, Richard tried, like he always did, to ease into the conversation. "Rumor has it Tom is your resident eyes and ears."

"Hmm." Ben hummed, not yet prepared to neither confirm nor deny those claims. He surveyed the tent, his eyes landing on the desk and the project that Richard had just completed. He walked over to it, bending to take in the intricate details of the miniature ship, an uncanny replica of the real-life version that still sat in the jungle, aging under the damp dew of wet leaves, the wooden base two shakes from caving.

"So this is what you've been doing in your spare time?" Ben asked, still angled over the long bottle that sat peacefully in its display stand. "The cursed bow of the Black Rock, settled between glass for all time. Impressive."

Richard crossed his arms, suddenly shied by Ben's spying eyes. Why did he suddenly feel so uncomfortable? "What are you doing here, Ben?"

Ben didn't waste any time, daring to incur Richard's wrath with raptured delight. "I've been trying to find Jacob."

"What?" Richard exclaimed, his mouth dropping. "You know you can't do that, Ben." He warned, his voice harsh and castrating

Ben stood stoically, but life danced in his eyes, a bitterness he held to for years. Watching Richard crack under that calm and confident posture was always a sight he dare not miss. "Of course I can't." His voice rang condescendingly, soaking with bored apathy for Richard's predicted scolding. "You've made that glaringly clear for years now, which is why I've come to you." He stepped in closer, pacing his cane in front of his wobbly stride.

"I need you to go to him, Richard. You're the only one who can."

Richard shook his head, incredulously so, shocked that Ben thought he was in a position to make such a demand. "That's not how it works and you know it. You don't just _go_ to Jacob, Ben, you're _called_."

"Something is wrong." Ben stressed loudly, worriedly. Richard could actually see the calamity in his eyes, the agony, the sickening concern. "Jacob hasn't been calling much lately, actually, at all. You do realize that he hasn't sent any instructions in over a month?"

"As the one who delivers any correspondence from Jacob right to your doorstep Ben, I am very aware of that." Richard said, still not rising to anxiousness as quickly as Ben would have liked or anticipated.

Ben squinted, studying the man before him, trying to get a read on what was going on here. Richard should feel just as pent up about this as he was, even more so since he knew where Jacob was and at the very least how to reach him. Ben couldn't bring himself to believe that he was this carefree. "And it's not unsettling for you? Don't you want to know why?"

"I never said that it wasn't unsettling, but it _has_ happened before." Richard defended himself. "Whenever Jacob has something to say, he says it, and it is my job to make sure that when he decides to say it, everyone hears it. That's how it's always been. You know that."

"Maybe things are finally changing." Ben snapped back, challenging, uncompromising in his stance.

Richard rose to that challenge, presenting one of his own. "Or_ maybe_ he has nothing else to say for the time being." Ben shook his head piteously; his eyelids sliding down with sympathy for Richard, a man whom he thought had the capacity to see this for what it really was.

"Well, that would be a pity wouldn't it, Richard?" He placed his cane forward before stepping with it, anchoring himself, deciding to make a move when he saw fit. That was Ben in a nutshell, always calculated, careful, with every step, literally and figuratively, large and small, measuring each move with its pro and con, never surprised, only challenged to change his tactic.

"All those years of serving Jacob, of taking every single order to the very letter, of protecting him, keeping his whereabouts hidden and he just closes the door right in your face." The anger that burned over Richard's features was like candy for Ben, it didn't last long, but it was delectable for the time it had.

Richard unconsciously balled his fists, ready to pummel the man he has known since his childhood. "Or maybe he's closed it in yours." The sharp barb caught Ben off guard, giving him less than seconds to recover, to feign indifference to the verbal gab. Richard stepped forward for the first time, giving Ben little personal space, little wiggle room, room that he was so used to slithering through.

"What are you up to Ben?" He asked it so politely, showing that he wasn't upset, but curiously, accusingly, but with so much restraint. He didn't want to fight, he wasn't build for it. He advocated for peace, civility, partnership. That was what Jacob was all about, and it had always been the person he was, never quick to aggression and anger, but somehow, Ben wanted to test him, push him, and he was finding it harder than ever to control the decision not to push back. "Why are you so concerned about what happens next?"

"Ah. I understand." Ben gasped, his lips tightened into a thin line, the smirk he wanted to display burgeoning behind it. "You're still upset about Locke, aren't you? You're upset that I didn't go the route that you wanted me to."

Richard was completely exasperated now, his attempt to smooth this over, to connect with him on a level that they hadn't in a very long time failing. He turned away, sitting his hands on his hips harshly, so as not to ball his fists and swing, a frustrated move that delighted Ben to no end. What did Locke have to do with anything they were talking about? This was classic Ben. Deflection, a play on ignorance, when he knew exactly what this was about.

Ben spoke up, attempting to plead his case for what felt like the millionth time when Richard wouldn't respond. "I offered him everything, but he decided to leave. He didn't want to stay Richard. He didn't want me to tell him about the Isl—"

"Because he knew that you weren't going to." Richard exclaimed once he turned back to him. "He knew that you were trying to play him, he could smell it the second we walked through the door." He took a deep, sizzling breath through his nostrils, his composure found again. "He's become pretty good at reading your tells, and it really bothers you that he's done following idly behind you, that he wants to know the truth and he won't stop until he finds it and he doesn't need you for that." He could tell that he was onto something, that he had picked up on the tension from the last time Ben was in the same space as Locke pitch perfectly.

"Is that why you have Tom camped out here?"Richard pointed to the tent's wall. "You're hoping that Locke shows up so you can finish what you started?" Ben's silence spoke volumes and the look on his face, the disbelief he felt that Richard thought so little of him evident. "You don't trust that I can handle Locke myself, so you sent Tom to babysit."

"That's absolutely ridiculous, Richard." Ben denied, sounding just as hurt as he needed to sound.

"Oh is it, now?" Richard asked sarcastically, not eating the bull Ben was trying to feed him. "Just as ridiculous as not giving me the heads up about Mikhail being alive before you showed up here. I thought he was dead." Ben enjoyed the attention of that moment, he knew. Showing up out of the blue, anchored by someone they all mourned. It was the attention that he wanted.

Smugly and nonchalantly, acting as if what Richard said hadn't hurt him on some emotional level, Ben spoke like tempers hadn't just erupted, monotonously yet sneeringly. "I'm sorry I didn't have the time to radio you about Mikhail, Richard. Between trying to raise a teenage daughter who hates me and suffering through hours of physical therapy every single day in order to literally get back on my feet, it slipped my mind."

"But since you just have to know, he showed at the barracks late last night. As it turns out, Locke lied about killing him. He used it to try to get back at me for stopping him from blowing up my sub."

Richard let out a derisive chuckle, not surprised that Ben jumped at the chance to make it look like Locke had been the deceptive one. "Maybe Locke didn't lie. Maybe he just doesn't know that he didn't kill him."

"That's the second time you've defended John Locke to me, Richard." Ben noted irritably, that unaffected shell cracking. "You should be very careful about where you draw that line."

Richard shrugged, taunting that crack in Ben's shell, poking at it until it crumbled a little more. "Maybe there is no line between you and me and Locke. Maybe that's the point of all of this. Maybe that's why he keeps trying, because he's supposed to."

"You're joking, right?" Ben's face contorted into the most effective showing of disgust and disapproval.

"There is something about John Locke that I can't get over, Ben." Richard admitted, his voice low so that no one else could hear him, even though they were talking in private. "Do you remember when we went to see him, after he was captured on the docks? He asked me a question. He looked me right in the eyes and I literally felt compelled to tell him the truth."

"Do you know what that is? Do you know why I felt drawn to a man that you say is a threat to all of us?" Richard asked, desperate for an answer. Ben looked just as lost as Richard did in that moment, startled by his confession, but not letting that much show.

"It's obvious that you feel sorry for John and that's not a surprise to me Richard, because no matter how long you've lived on this Island, you're still human. You see a man who's hurt and you want to heal him, but I have somehow earned your distrust because of Locke's pain, and I have no idea how to fix it." Richard was oddly affected by that admission, because it seemed like Ben wanted to be trusted, by him, so badly that he felt unarmed without it.

"I don't know how to get you to trust me again." Ben seemed hopeless himself, expressing his failings so emotively, those round eyes of his gleamed, all the anger in them dissipated.

Before Richard could speak, Ben continued, having pinned his catch with the most effective bait. "I grew up on this Island. It's been my home for over thirty years. You would know that better than anyone, wouldn't you?"

Richard lowered his head, the truth in Ben's words were the first touch of sincerity that he felt from the man since he arrived. "I actually remember the day we met. I was this scared little, pimply-faced kid, running around in the jungle searching for his dead mother, because he couldn't face that she was really gone, that she really left me there with _him_." Ben's voice cracked into submission as he turned away from Richard's view.

In front of Richard's eyes, this man that he'd known since his adolescence cowered into that very child he remembered so vividly, the transformation effortless, unhitched. He understood that children who went through traumatic events would grow up to be adults who were trapped in that experience, their emotions still suspended in time that had long past, their outward growth stunted by their inner demons. He had been abused by the father who was supposed to love and protect him, and that need for approval, for acceptance, ran deeper than Richard had ever imagined. He sought that acceptance from him, from Jacob, from the Island.

Ben stood with his back to Richard, speaking up so that he was heard. "I was searching for a family, when you found me. But do you want to know what I was really searching for?" He turned to gauge Richard's reaction. He was no doubt growing just as emotional as he just had. Richard shook his head, signaling that he had no idea what Ben was really looking for all those years ago.

"A way to feel special, to feel like I belonged somewhere, to someone, to some_thing _greater than myself, than my circumstances." He admitted, ripping scabs away from old wounds that would never heal. "And suffice to say, there are times when I feel like that scared little boy all over again. Powerless and alone. "

"Do you know what it feels like, Richard? To finally have something special happen to you, you can't bear the thought of screwing it up, of losing it like you've lost everything else?" Richard stood corrected, sympathy for Ben seeping through his eyes, his soft facial features melding into a sea of empathy and compassion. "No? Well, I do."

Ben stepped over to Richard, wobbling slightly, but keeping steady for most of the trip. "Do you remember what you said to me when I asked, literally begged to go with you? You said, '_You're gonna have to be very, very patient_.'"

Richard silently shook his head, recalling the moment that he asked him to wait for the right time, to go back to that house, to that man, who continued to beat him and treat him like a lesser being who had no proper, effective way of defending itself.

"With all due respect Richard, I waited, I did exactly what you told me to do and, honestly, I think that thirty years is patient enough."

Richard smirked a little, a tiny smile shining through. He looked into Ben's eyes. "I'll do it," was all he said. "But I can't promise you that I'll get any answers, but I'll try."

Ben placed his hand over Richard's shoulder, squeezing and rubbing gratefully, passing all that he couldn't say through the gesture. "That's all I ask for. Thank you, Richard."

"Don't thank me yet." He warned. "We still don't know if it'll work, if Jacob will even respond."

"It's definitely worth a try." Ben said. "I should head back now, not that Alex misses me."

Richard laughed, settling his hand over Ben's opposing shoulder. "We'll be in touch."

Ben walked through the leaves of the jungle, precisely on the trail of footprints they strategically left behind. His back was killing him and his knees burned like acid, but he never had the guts to admit such a thing. He just needed to get back home and lie down. The pain, every bit of it, was worth it, for what was to come, for what would soon be his. He couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face since leaving the Hostiles' camp. He hadn't said a word to Mikhail, who travelled silently next to him, expecting him to let him in on the news any minute now, growing more disappointed that he kept it all to himself.

"Did he agree to it?" Mikhail finally asked, with nothing but the chirp of birds high in the trees to fill the silence.

Ben continued walking, slapping the overhanging vines from his trail. "Of course he did." He said confidently, as if it required zero effort on his part.

Richard's suspicions of him were terribly hard to get around, but somehow, he'd done it. He played on Richard's good nature, his memories of a child that was stripped of its innocence and morality long ago. Honestly, on the inside, Ben was worried. Very worried. He hadn't heard from the private investigator he based in Los Angeles in quite some time, meaning that someone had caught on to him. But who? Luckily, nothing could be traced back to him, the accounts used to pay him and the number used for contact untraceable, basically non-existent. Changing the tactic, that was what he had to do now.

Mikhail grinned slightly. "I take it you were successful in deceiving him."

Ben suddenly stopped and turned to Mikhail, his eyes waltzing with mischief. "Richard has no idea what he's agreed to. Now it's your turn to work your magic, Mikhail. Are you ready to do your part?"

"Aren't I always?" Mikhail asked, his burlish Russian accent smugly self-assured.

"Yes." Ben laughed, nodding in the affirmative. "Yes, you are."

* * *

><p>Jack stood with eyes that still struggled to open, drips of water from his hair rolled down his cheek. He shifted his hand to the frame of the door, leaning in it for strength and pivoting himself to shut the door right in this man's face, but not before he asked him one last question. "What did you just say?"<p>

"The Island, Jack." Faraday repeated himself, his voice still low and peculiar. "I know all about it and I know that you're looking for it. I can help you find it, that's why I was sent here."

He barely got his explanation out before Jack shut him down. "Look, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I don't have time for this." He moved to slam the door.

"I know why you were in Australia." Faraday suddenly blurted through the remaining crack of the door. Jack, interested now, stopped the door from slamming, pulling it back. Jack's eyes begged for an explanation that he wasn't up for hearing five seconds ago.

The lump in his throat forced his voice back down, but he cleared it, still speaking low and secretively. "I know about your father's death, Jack, and I know about the rest of them, the other passengers, the people that you're trying to get back to."

"Who the hell are you?" Jack asked again, his voice softer than it was before.

"I'll make you a deal, I'll tell you everything you want to know and how I know about all of this, and if you're still not convinced that I just want to help you, you can kick me out and I'll gladly leave." Faraday propositioned. "Deal?"

He stood at the wide, open windows of Jack's balcony moments later, watching at its high perch, the Los Angeles skyline breathtaking from here. He took in the minute details of his apartment. Maps and books were neatly stacked on the nearby table at the far wall adjacent to the couch, the recycle bin in the kitchen was full of empty bottles, and the state of the man himself looked less rumpled after he came out of his bedroom wearing a clean dark blue t-shirt.

Jack reappeared from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, offering one of them to his guest. Faraday gladly and gratefully took it. "Thank you." He took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised by how good it was. There was a hint of creamer and the depth of two or three sugars. "You got a nice apartment here, Jack. The view's pretty amazing."

"We might as well skip the small talk and get started with you telling me how you know about me and the Island." Jack demanded as he sat down on the couch, drinking from his own coffee cup.

"Okay then." Dan sighed, grabbing a chair from the dining table, settling into it slowly while dropping his cup next to him. After a beat, he spoke. "My mother, her name is Eloise Hawking, and she's a very powerful woman. She acquired information about your plane crash, more specifically, _where_ your plane crashed. I know about you, because she has taken an interest in your cause and wants to help you."

"The obvious next question is why does she care? Why does she want to help me?" Jack asked, disbelief and skepticism obvious in his tone. "Planes crash all the time, all over the world. Why does your mother care about _this_ one?"

"She wants to help protect the Island and the people who crashed there, mainly you." Faraday said after another sip from his cup. "She was instrumental in keeping your plane crash out of the press. Only she and a select few knew about it."

Interesting, Jack thought. He remembered the conversation with Juliet's friend Brian about the media catching wind of the story and how, because of strings that Ben pulled, no one would ever know about the crash, the Island and how it had to stay that way, and now he was hearing that this Eloise Hawking was the puppet master. What was the truth? Who was all involved? What was so important about that damn Island?

"Why does she care about protecting some Island in the South Pacific and a group of people she's never met? What's in it for her?" Jack asked.

Faraday shrugged. "She said that she's indebted to an old friend."

"Who's the friend?" Jack asked.

Faraday sighed, very certain that Jack wouldn't like his answer. "She didn't tell me." Jack laughed mockingly as he closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one large hand.

"She didn't tell you." He repeated with a long sigh for punctuation. How convenient, he thought. Everyone was telling him to do something, to trust them, to follow them, they were all so good at it, but they could never answer his questions with solid answers. They could never give him what he needed. Walking blind was not his favorite hobby and everyone was asking that of him.

"My mother is very protective of her secrets, Jack. I was lucky to get that much out of her." Faraday defended himself.

Jack suddenly felt a hint of understanding. He could definitely sympathize with him on that point. Christian had possessed the surreptitious nature of a CIA agent. He never knew what he was up to and how much damage it would do. Of everything that had gone wrong in their relationship, of all the mistakes made on both sides, having to learn from someone he hadn't known for much more than two months that he had a sister and a nephew, that was the deepest cut. He was still full of so much anger and resentment towards his father for not telling him. He wondered if his mother knew too, for how long and if she just didn't tell him to protect him, or to protect Christian. The man was dead and gone and he still lingered everywhere. If only he had found him on that Island and was able to bring him home and bury him. That part of his pain would have closure at least, but that was just too much to ask.

"Well, what _did_ she tell you, Dan?" Jack asked.

Faraday pivoted his folded arms over his thighs, leaning in, bracing himself. "She was very particular about this part, very clear. She said that no matter what happens, you need to go back to the Island as soon as humanly possible." He sat back, puzzled suddenly. "She said something else, it was very ominous, very strange."

Jack leaned in. "What was it?"

"She said that it was your destiny?" Faraday said it questioningly, unsure of what his mother knew about this man and why he had to go back to the Island.

Jack snorted sardonically, his head nodding, anger rolling. "My _destiny_." He repeated, his tone far from amused. That word had the power to make him see red, but then he realized that it wasn't necessarily the word, it was the man who used the word like a bargaining chip to get him to do what he wanted him to do. He stood from the couch, walking past Faraday and towards the wide windows of the balcony door.

"Your mother sounds exactly like John Locke." Jack said, focusing his attention on anything else but this conversation.

"The English philosopher?" Dan asked

Despite his frustration, Jack laughed lightly, Dan's social ineptness oddly endearing. "John Locke is one of the crash survivors. He believes that the crash happened for a reason and that I'm supposed to do something, that I'm important somehow." He explained.

"He could be dead." Jack corrected himself, recalling the last time he ever saw John, a gun to his head with nowhere to turn. Emotions he never thought he would feel towards Locke blossomed. The man drove him insane, made him question his purpose in ways he never thought possible to question it, but if he were dead, there was a part of him that would mourn and feel remorse, a part of him that already did.

"This John Locke," Faraday said, turning in his chair to watch Jack as he continued to stare out of the balcony window, "what makes him believe that the Island is your destiny?"

"I don't know," Jack shook his head, resoluteness in his tone, "and I don't want to know."

"I get the sinking feeling that's not true, Jack." He commented, but Jack didn't respond, still standing stoically at the window. "It's a pretty big coincidence that my mother and this John Locke have said the same thing about why you need to go back."

"Do me a favor, will ya Dan?" Jack asked, turning around to face him, his eyes hard and steely. "Don't mistake coincidence for fate." Off that, he turned, walking back towards the couch, pacing even, deep in thought. There was something missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about this wasn't adding up.

He turned to Faraday when it dawned on him. "So, your mother knows about the plane crash and the Island, but how did she find out that I'm trying to go back?" He hadn't told anyone but Juliet about his plans.

"She got ahold of the flight's manifest, and when you popped back up here in Los Angeles, after having been missing for months, she put people on you."

"People_? _As in spies?" Jack asked, deftly interested in an answer. It felt good to get that one straight-forward answer out of this guy.

"People who work for my mother, people who could account for your every move, yes." Dan said with a short nod. "You hadn't taken your job back at St. Sebastian and you were barely seen leading the life that you had before, which tipped her off. You weren't planning on staying here."

Jack thought about that logic and had to agree with it. He wasn't trying to fool anyone into believing that he was staying permanently, except for his mother, who still didn't know that her son planned to leave her again. She still left messages that he hadn't even listened to, his inbox filling fast. That was what he hated about lies, they alienated, and they made things harder than they had to be. He never meant to make it harder, but he had. She would lose him all over again and he hated to do that to her.

"But a few days before she made the order to have you followed, she discovered that someone already was." Dan continued, breaking through Jack's thoughts.

He stopped in mid stride, his hand falling from the nape of his head, where he rubbed roughly, his body still achy and sore. "Who?" The question spewed out of him on a shaky breath.

"A private investigator. He said he was hired and paid a large sum of money to know everything about your activity since leaving the Island."

"Who hired him?" Jack asked, his heart rate jumping.

"A man by the name of Henry Gale." Faraday confessed. "We couldn't come up with any more specifics about the guy. It's like he doesn't even exist."

At the sound of that name, Jack's heart literally stopped beating and Faraday's voice drifted away. His eyes bulged and his features lit up with dread and utter shock. What the hell was going on? He thought as he brought one hand up to rub at his forehead, his other hand reaching for the armrest of the couch. He fell into the cushions slowly, his stomach suddenly tied up in knots.

Faraday immediately noticed the change in Jack's demeanor. "Does that name mean anything to you?" Rhetorical question, he knew, but he still had to ask. Jack sat with both hands covering his face.

"Jack?" Faraday asked softly, but firmly. "Do you know who that is?"

"Yeah." Jack huffed loudly once he uncovered his face, recovering some of his jilted composure. "The name is an alias. The man's real name is Benjamin Linus. I met him about a month or so after the crash." He shook his head in disbelief, his eyes glued to the floor. "He stumbled into our camp, lied to us about who he was, how he got there and he used that name to do it." He still couldn't believe he was saying that, that Ben was still a factor, an issue, a problem. Faraday wasn't sure who this man was, but judging from the look of disgust and revelation on Jack's face, this man had complicated life for him tremendously while on the Island.

"He must have told the P.I. not to give his real name in case something like this happened." Jack said completely to himself. Before Faraday could ask his question, Jack spoke up again, answering it. "He's the one who helped me get off the Island."

Shock blew into full-on confusion for Jack, who fisted his hands through his tea-length hair, aggravated with himself for having another question that he would never get the proper answer to. "Why would Ben have someone following me? It doesn't make any sense."

Only it made perfect sense, to two people who warned him that Ben was only out for himself, who told him that Ben wasn't done, that he was never done. He closed his eyes, shaking his head in shame. "John was right, so was Juliet."

"Juliet Burke." Faraday said. "We looked her up after you went to see her last week. He had someone watching her too."

"They both tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen." Jack said, a seething hatred for himself ran rampant.

How could he not have seen it? Was he that desperate to leave, that vulnerable and stupid to believe in the honor and word of a man he thought he could trust after what he'd done for him? He was heartbroken, upset and confused, and Ben took complete advantage of that. He became flooded with memories of the moments before he boarded the submarine, of Locke, blooded and bruised, bowed to his knees by force, pleading with him. He could still hear him in his head, bits and pieces floating through.

'_Ben wants you to believe that he's doing you a favor, but he's not Jack. He's only out for himself._'

What had he done? He rubbed a hand through his hair as he rose from the couch, pacing like a caged lion ready to pounce. What if Ben hadn't let Kate and Sayid go like he promised he would? Oh God, _Kate_, he thought desperately. He'd left her there, handcuffed, alone, right in the hub of Ben's territory, his lair. He told her not to come back for him, but that was beside the point now. What if Ben decided to hurt her after all? He couldn't possibly live with himself if he left her in a situation that got her killed. He was tough enough to take on a lot, but that, that was his breaking point.

He felt sick to his stomach. He gripped his forehead, the pain there agonizing. "I don't understand." He cried out sharply. "Why is this happening?"

"I don't know," Faraday shook his head, wanting to do more, but finding that he couldn't, not in the moment, "but we'll figure that out together."

Jack looked at Faraday through the tears in his eyes. "Together?" He asked, his voice choked with emotion. "What makes you think I can trust you anymore than I can trust him?"

"Because…" Faraday deliberated the question, suffering under the importance of his answer and how it would affect the rest of this conversation. "I knocked on your door, Jack, with the knowledge that there was a very big possibility that you would slam it in my face, and I'm sitting here at your dining room table and I'm telling you that we've been watching you for the past month. Call me brave or call me stupid, but I'm not lying to you and you _can_ trust me."

"If I'm to give you my opinion, I would say you and your friends shouldn't have survived. The statistical probability of more than ten of you surviving that crash is less than five percent. The impact alone should have killed you, but it didn't." Faraday commented.

"I think that there's a bigger reason why you need to go back, one you don't even realize, and I think you know that." He took a breath, clasping his hands in front of him. "We don't know each other Jack, but I know haunted when I see it. Something is closing in on you and you can't fight it much longer."

How did he know that? Jack thought. At the core of all his anger and confusion, it was still there, loud, clear, like a whistle, piercing and sharp. That call to the place he just wanted to be done with. It felt like it was so close he could touch it, yet so far away that nothing could possibly reach it. What was he supposed to do with that? What Locke said to do? To live out a destiny he was no surer of than anything else in his life? He didn't want any part in this.

It was easier admitting his vulnerabilities, his weaknesses to Juliet, because he knew that she would fight him on it, that she would oppose and defend, think him crazy for suggesting what he was suggesting, because she was the old him, before all of this happened, before he started to lose what was left of his mind. Doubts about what he was doing, what he was feeling, continued to unfold. He was losing his grip, losing his sense of reality, and whenever he was confronted with the truth, it was _his_ reality to deny it, to push it down for no one else to see, even though inside he felt the quakes of its accuracy.

"No." Jack groaned, his voice deep and twisted. "The only thing I'm meant to do is save my friends. Everything else, it doesn't matter."

"What if it does? If Locke was right about Ben, what else could he be right about?" Faraday pointed out. Not waiting for Jack's answer, he stood, reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope that was folded at the center. "Somehow, my mother knew that you would need something to help you understand, to help you take that next step." He handed it to Jack.

"What's this?" He asked, unfolding the envelope from its crease. It had his address written on it, but there was no return address. He noticed the fading penmanship, recognized it immediately. He'd seen it a million times before.

"This is my father's handwriting." He whispered, his eyebrows furrowing, looking up at Faraday with a suspecting eye. "How did your mother get this?"

Faraday could tell that heat was scorching beneath those hazel eyes and that he was in the direct line of fire. "She didn't tel—"

"Do _not_", Jack erupted, gripping his jacket into his fist, balling it into a tight knot. His voice quaking as it rose, a pitch lower than a shout, but just as fierce, "lie to me, Dan." Faraday took a step back as Jack took one forward, holding the letter up between his other fist, aggression exuding from his skin, his eyes intense, wide.

"How did your mother get this?" He punctuated each and every word with a bullet.

"I don't know." Faraday said honestly, slowly, very scared that he would be physically pummeled at any second. "The only thing that I was told to tell you is that it's a letter from your father. He wrote it when he was in Australia, and he was supposed to send it to you, but he, uh, he died before he could."

Jack suddenly got ahold of himself, staring into Dan's eyes, eyes that dripped with fear. He backed away slowly, unraveling his fist from his jacket, the letter still in his hand. He looked down at it, still dumbfounded by its existence. "His body was on the plane with me and now, it's somewhere on that Island," he said softly.

He stepped up to Faraday again, his eyes bruising, his voice harsh again. "If your mother had this letter, that means that she knows exactly where he is."

"Jack—" Faraday started, but Jack would hear none of it.

"I want to talk to your mother Dan, in person." He demanded, crazed now, determined anger seizing through his system. "I want to know the truth, all of it, starting with how she got this letter."

"She's out of the country, and will be for months." Faraday confessed, shaking his head. Jack knew he was telling the truth. "I'm all you got, Jack, and how she got this letter, it doesn't matter, not if you don't let me help you. We're running out of time."

With that, Jack threw the letter onto the dining room table, his hands raking through his hair again, tousling the thick mane even more. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and no matter where he turned, there was a wall, a reminder that he wasn't in control, that he was trapped. He moved towards the open windows, panting, "You need to leave." He whistled through clinched teeth, his voice cracking. "I need you to leave right now."

Faraday felt a soaring sympathy for this man, who was so alone with so much. Having given up for the moment, he pulled a small card out of his pocket and sat it on the table near the letter and let himself out, hoping that time would bring Jack around.

Once he knew Faraday was gone, Jack turned, round tears spilling down his cheeks, his features contorted with sadness and anger. He stared at the crumpled letter that seemed to stare right back, daring him to open and feast.


	14. The Faraday Effect

_**Over 100 reviews! I know, that's a small feat, but it's a huge victory to me, considering the fact that it's taking longer than I expected to write this story. Again, sorry for the delay between chapters, and thank you all so much for reading!**_

* * *

><p>Sun and Claire approached Kate's tent, ready to pull the flaps back and check in on their friend, who had been cooped up in her lonesome for four days now. Claire was the only one who really knew what Kate was going through, why she left the beach everyday and what not having Jack around was doing to her, but it was killing her to keep it all to herself.<p>

When Kate came back the last time, it was after dark, and the beach was lit with firelight. She had hoped to just get to her tent without being stopped, but Claire had been waiting up for her. She approached her and saw the tears in her puffy eyes, the rabid fear poking through them. She tried to console her, but she mumbled something about needing to be alone, and disappeared into her tent, never to be seen of or heard from again. Claire couldn't take it anymore. She had been bombarded with questions from those close to Kate, especially Sun, who started to notice that Claire knew something that she wasn't saying, something that Kate had trusted her and her alone to know. Claire, cracking under the pressure of Sun's scrutiny, finally told her everything. Shocked and worried, Sun wanted to go to Kate immediately, but Claire stopped her. Two days later, they're back to where they started, wanting to reach out to their friend, but unsure of if she would accept it.

Claire wrapped one hand around Sun's wrist, stopping her in her attempt to pull Kate's tent open to enter. "Wait."

"What are we waiting for _this_ time?" Sun asked, irritated.

Claire shrugged, letting go of Sun's wrist slowly. "I don't know, I just don't think that we should be doing this. Maybe she doesn't want us disturbing her."

"She's been in this tent for four days, Claire. We have to do something." Sun reasoned. "And besides, this was your idea."

"I know, I know. I'm just…I'm having second thoughts okay?" Claire huffed, just as frustrated with herself as Sun suddenly was.

"Hey." They heard Kate's voice say. Sun and Claire froze. They turned back to the tent, where they believed her voice was coming from.

"Uh, hey," Claire nearly shouted towards Kate's tent, like she had gone deaf in her hibernation. "It's me and Sun. We just wanted to come by to see how you are."

"We've been worried about you, Kate." Sun said. "Is it okay that we come in?"

"I don't think that's gonna help." Kate said.

"Well, why not?" Claire asked.

"Because I'm standing right behind you." Sun and Claire turned, startled, meeting her green eyes and freckled cheeks illuminated in the sunlight. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her hair slightly damp, frizzy from the wash she must have just taken. She wore a fitted orange t-shirt and loose jeans, her hiking boots tied tightly.

"We thought you were…inside." Sun said on a chortle, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Kate chuckled lightly at her girlfriends and moved past them, entering her tent, and tying the flap back so that they could see inside. She sat down on her small cot, tying her hair back into a loose, messy bun while Claire and Sun stood in raptured silence.

"I just came from cleaning up." Kate said while reaching for her pack, filling it with what she thought pertinent to take with her. She pulled Jack's watch from her hiding place and stuffed it into her pocket, mentally reminding herself to put it someplace safer once she set out.

It was obvious that she was ready to move again, on another mission, the same one from before, or a new one, Claire and Sun weren't sure. They were a little startled by her behavior. Just days ago, she was distraught, quiet, invisible and now, it was like that hadn't happened at all. It was like they were staring down at a new woman, a new Kate, or the old one at least. She had twinkles in her eyes. This wasn't the same woman who was struggling with what was happening to her. There was acceptance in the place of uncertainty, excitement where dread and confusion once resided. She burned with confidence.

She zipped her backpack halfway and stood, moving past Claire and Sun towards the communal kitchen. "What's going on?"

"Kate, we're worried about you." Sun admitted, trailing behind her with Claire doing the same. "You haven't been the same since coming back from the jungle a few days ago, and well, if I'm being honest, since coming back from rescuing Jack," she sighed, sure that failing to bring him back with her was still a sore issue, "but whatever you need to find out there, is it really worth your life?"

Kate stopped packing items from the pantry into her bag abruptly, her eyes moving towards Sun. "Claire told you about what's been going on with me." She eyed Claire then, scoldingly, like that of a big sister who just caught her little sister in her panty drawer, fishing for something scandalous. She figured Claire would crack one day anyways. She wasn't known for her talents of keeping secrets, even though she asked her to keep a pretty big one.

Claire shrugged, the guilt raining from her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I had to tell someone."

"I'm a little disappointed that you didn't tell me yourself, Kate." Sun admitted, sadness in her voice. "I thought we were closer than that."

"Sun, I'm sorry. It's not that I didn't want to tell you, it's that I didn't plan on telling _anyone_." Kate confessed, feeling really terrible for making Sun feel abandoned and anything less than the close friend she became very early on. She didn't have any girlfriends growing up, and very little in adulthood. She was awkwardly tomboyish and still was in many aspects, but Sun had become a friend seamlessly. It was so easy talking to her; there was calmness about her presence that made things easier, lighter sometimes.

Kate shrugged her shoulders, shy suddenly. "I don't know where I stand with anyone anymore."

Sun scoffed lightly. "How can you say that, Kate? You're my friend, and you always will be, no matter what. You've helped me with Jin so many times, listened to me talk about my mistakes, and held me when I cried. I don't understand what's out there that's got you like this, but I support you if this is what you have to do. I want to be here for you, Kate. Please let me."

The two women stared into each other's eyes knowingly. Kate smiled humbly, tears threatening to flow. She pulled Sun into a tight hug, grateful for her loyalty in a time when she didn't know if anyone still thought of her the same as they had before. "Thank you." Sun caressed her friend even tighter in response.

"Well, since you're both here," Kate said, while pulling out of the hug, "I have news." She took a deep breath, rubbing her sweaty palms against her hips nervously, her baggy jeans sitting against her tiny waist comfortably. "I found it."

"Well, what is it?" Claire asked immediately.

Kate took a deep breath. "It's a cabin. Last time it took me about a full day to find it, I plan to get there in half the time." She confessed, greeting Sun and Claire's wide-eyed reactions.

"A cabin? Who does it belong to?" Sun asked, confused.

"I don't know, it's abandoned. Whoever lived there hasn't for years. There's this big circle of black ash surrounding it, like someone's trying to protect it." Kate struggled to say what she wanted to reveal, she couldn't get it out.

"What? What happened?" Claire asked, sensing that there was more to the story, completely intrigued.

"I heard someone," Kate whispered, not sure if she should tell her two best friends this, in fear of freaking them out even more, "I heard someone whisper my name."

"What?" Sun asked.

"Who was it?" Claire asked, she and Sun speaking simultaneously.

"I don't know," Kate shook her head. "For all I know, I was the only one there, but this voice, it sounded so… _familiar_, I—I just couldn't place it, so I ran away."

Sun still wasn't sure about this. "What if it happens again?"

"That's why I'm going back. I'm hoping it does, so I can figure out what it all means." Kate admitted. "There's a presence there that I'm drawn to, maybe this voice, whoever it is, is the source of that." Sun and Claire looked at each other, their concern mirror images of each other.

Claire turned back to Kate. "Are you coming back?"

"I don't think so, at least not for awhile." Kate confessed regrettably. "I honestly thought I was chasing a ghost, something that didn't exist, but I wasn't. It's tangible, it's out there and I have to go back" She sighed, catching the sadness in her friends' eyes. "I get the feeling that the answers I need aren't gonna be staring me in the face. I have to figure it out on my own and staying in the cabin is the best way to do that."

"Well, since we won't see you for while, I have some news of my own." Sun looked over at Claire, who visibly encouraged her to spill already. "I'm pregnant!" She broke into a smile, tears coming to her eyes.

"Oh Sun, that's great!" Kate cheered, wrapping her friend into another tight, thrilled hug. Sun pulled out of the hug, still embraced with Kate, but pulling Claire into their circle.

"We're gonna miss you." Claire said with a pout, as her head came up from leaning on Sun's shoulder, emotion choking her voice.

Kate laid a hand over Sun's belly, happy tears in her eyes. "I'll be back, you couldn't possibly keep me away."

Nearby, but far enough away to look inconspicuous, Sawyer stood leaning against the trunk of a banyan, peeling at a ripened mango with a paring knife, taking the bites into his mouth as if that were all that his attention could capture in the moment. He looked from the ocean blue and turned his head slightly, watching as Kate departed from Sun and Claire, having heard everything that was said between the three women. He supposed it was his cunning talents as a conman that made it so easy to get close enough to listen but seem far enough away that it looked like he could care less. He cared very much, more than he thought he would given that Kate's inattentiveness towards him had hurt his feelings. He was right there, and she still longed for the Doc.

Sayid walked across the sand a few yards away, looking as busy and occupied as ever. He went along with his chore, throwing fresh firewood into the stack that had burned out the night before. His eyes met Sawyer's, who nodded curtly towards Kate leaving the beach. Sayid nodded back, indicating that he was aware of her departure.

They would give Kate a pretty decent head start, and then they would execute their plan.

* * *

><p>Jack sat behind the wheel of his truck, his fingers tapping to the beat of the smoky but jubilant rhythm and blues melody that blared from his speakers as he turned into a parking lot on the northwest side of the University of California-Los Angeles campus. He found a parking spot relatively quickly for the time of day he decided to drop in and after cutting the ignition, he looked down at the business card that Faraday left on his dining room table before leaving four short days ago. He had no idea what he was doing here, why he trusted some guy he barely knew, but he really didn't have a choice did he? A way to find the Island literally knocked on his door. He had to take advantage of the opportunity.<p>

Each hallway looked the same, each door looked like the last one, he thought as he walked down the hallways of one of the buildings. Eventually, after many detours and stops to ask how to get to where he needed to be, the golden nameplate hanging next to a heavy oak door told him that he was in the right place. '_Daniel Faraday, Ph.D._' was engraved in neat lettering, staring back at him.

Turning the doorknob, Jack encountered what could only be considered a research lab, a very cluttered, messy and unorganized lab. He stepped inside, his eyes taking in the details of the space. A high ceiling made the room spacious, overhead lamps hanging in all four corners and in the very middle, but only three of them worked properly, illuminating the disorderly room. An opening into another room sat to the far left. Chalkboards lined three of the four walls, numbers and symbols melding together into something that he couldn't decipher even if he tried. On the fourth wall was a long bookshelf, full of bookends that seemed stuck together.

Walking onwards, he noticed that in the middle of the room was a custom-built maze, framed by a few machines with knobs and buttons at the far end. Something that looked like an overhanging lamp sat nearby, somehow attached to the equipment. On a table across from the elaborate experimental set-up, he noticed a cage, for a small rodent, a rat he supposed. Research journals were scattered on a nearby table, some open, notated with tabs, some closed, but of obvious long use. A corner of a worn, brown leather-bound notebook caught his eye, so he pulled it out from under the pile. It looked important, overused but durable. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should open it and pry. Curiosity soon won out over Faraday's right to privacy.

Once he opened it and thumbed through the pages, Jack realized that it was a field diary, and the lined-paper that filled it was full of observations, numbers, and experimental hypotheses written in what he presumed to be Faraday's handwriting. The familiar octagonal symbol of the Dharma Initiative was sketched out on a random page he'd turned to, greeting him like a ghost.

"What the hell?" Jack whispered, looking up from the notebook, his mind reeling. Who was this guy? He trailed his finger over the page's narrative, skimming over the words. Faraday had written with such excitement, enthusiasm. He couldn't quite grasp what he was writing about per se, but he continued to skim. The last sentence made his breath hitch in his throat as he read it, reading it over again to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

'_What this Island is capable of is nothing short of miraculous. The possibilities for time-travel are endless.'_

Just as confused as ever, Jack shook his head, his brows knitted. Trying to get more in-depth information, he shuffled through the rest of the notebook, but what was left of the journal was gibberish, the same scribblings of numbers, equations and expressions that covered the chalkboards. The only thing that mattered was that Faraday has been on the Island, that was the only explanation, and he never told him that. He wanted to feel betrayed, but counting on his memories from the other day, he really didn't give the guy a chance to explain much of anything.

Someone had walked into the room just then. Jack looked up, catching the surprised look on Faraday's face, at least what he could see of his face from behind those oversized safety goggles he was wearing.

"Jack?" Faraday asked, pulling the goggles from his eyes to get a better view of him.

He looked demonstratively better by his estimation. His hair was still lengthy, but combed into submission with parts of it blown by the wind, a light bang tickled his forehead. He had shaved away the heavy stubble from his cheeks, jaw line and chin, his face now fresh and awake. The leather jacket he wore caught the rays of sunshine that peeked through the room's one and only window. He looked so much younger than he had days ago, decades shed off of his appearance by simply using a comb, a razor and shaving cream.

Jack hid the journal behind his back, feeling like he had been caught snooping, which was exactly what he was doing. He stood completely still, trying to figure out how to explain his unannounced presence. "I tried calling, but you didn't answer, so I thought I'd stop by."

"I, uh, haven't exactly seen my office phone in a year or so, least of all heard it ringing." Faraday admitted with a light giggle, shrugging himself out of the radiation vest he was wearing.

He left his card because he was hoping that Jack would come to him. He was beyond happy that he had, but he wanted to make sure he asked the appropriate question before he assumed anything.

"What are you doing here, Jack?" Faraday asked.

Jack shuffled awkwardly, not ready to admit why he had come, but finding that he had no choice. "I thought long and hard about what you said, about this being the only opportunity I might get to find the Island again," He looked down at his feet, this man who hated asking for help suddenly at the mercy of it. "I have to take it."

"Good," Faraday nodded with a smile, "I'm glad that you changed your mind."

"So, how are you gonna help me find the Island?" Jack asked.

"That's a very involved question Jack, with a very involved answer." Faraday admitted.

Jack nodded in response, ready for the challenge. "Well, lets not waste any more time."

"Right." Faraday said, clapping his hands together, ready to get down to business. "Uh, follow me."

Jack followed him through the frame of the opening to the adjoining room, feasting his eyes on what had to be Faraday's office, a very cramped office. Jack felt like he had to fold to even fit into it. Faraday moved behind his desk, sitting down in his chair, watching as Jack followed suit, sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Everything I told you Jack, about it being a miracle that you and your friends survived, I meant every word of it. You should have died, you all should have."

"Comforting." Jack said, sarcastically.

"I saw the maps and the atlases in your apartment." Faraday observed. "And it's completely normal that you would look for the Island that way, that's what people do when they want to find something. They use what they know, but in your case, you don't know the half of it."

Jack listened intently. "What do you mean by that?"

"You couldn't find the Island on any of those maps or in any of those books, because it doesn't exist outside of my mother's inner circle, you and your fellow survivors." Faraday confessed.

"Because people like your mother want to protect it." Jack elaborated.

Faraday nodded. "Exactly."

Jack leaned forward, interested. "How did your mother get involved in all this?"

Faraday took a deep breath, bracing himself almost. "Years and years ago, before I was born, she was a large benefactor for this special project, headed by a group of scientists who were interested in finding these places, places that were different scientifically, places that were…_special_, but after years of finding a few of them, only one in particular peaked their interests."

"The Island."

"Yes, precisely. Anyway, they built this room that was centered over a unique pocket of unlimited energy, right here in Los Angeles. They called it the Lamp Post." Faraday recalled. "This energy powered an apparatus, a sort of compass that allowed the scientists to map and pinpoint the Island's location."

Faraday paused, and Jack straightened, the tension in his shoulders tightening. "I feel like there's a '_but_' coming."

"But, this is when they discovered that the Island's location," Faraday took a breath, "kept changing."

Jack laughed nervously, shaking his head, already denying the information. He considered his words carefully so as not to have misconstrued what he just heard. "You're telling me that the Island can _move_?"

"Not that it _can_ move, Jack, but that it _does_ move." Faraday pointed out. "Why do you think you and the rest of the survivors were never rescued?"

"Really bad luck?" Jack guessed, making Faraday laugh.

"There were always new coordinates popping up in a sporadic, random fashion and there was no way of extrapolating where the Island would end up next, just where it was at any particular time, so they would have to run this apparatus over and over again." Faraday explained.

Jack nodded, still confused and befuddled, but trying to follow as closely as possible. "And how do you fit into all this?"

"I joined the project, as a consultant, a side assignment outside of my role as a professor at Oxford." Faraday said.

Oxford? Jack thought. He wondered what brought him from the private prestige of Oxford to the public fishbowl of UCLA. What was Faraday's story? Jack asked himself. Why was he doing all of this? Why did he care so much?

Characteristically spirited about his work, Faraday stood up from the desk and erased a section of his chalkboard and picked up a piece of white chalk, scribbling numbers and symbols as he spoke, his twitchy behavior raising Jack's eyebrows.

"I came up with this mathematical equation based on my own research, and discovered that not only could the Island be found with a higher degree of probability," he stopped writing, turning to Jack emphatically in order to show him what he'd written, "but that the Island's movements aren't random, they're a part of a grander scheme, a bigger and far more fascinating design, but I, to this day, have no idea what that design is and what it's based on."

"Did you ever figure it out?" Jack asked.

"No, I didn't, but in the end, the design didn't matter to what I wanted to know. Do you want to know _what_ mattered, Jack?" Faraday asked teasingly. Jack smiled in response, his eyes begging for more, sure that he would tell him.

"Simple Physics." Faraday explained as if it were obvious to the naked eye. Jack knew to be careful, because their definition of 'simple' probably wasn't the same.

"Underneath the Island lies an immensely powerful hotbed of electromagnetic activity. Energy, Jack. The same kind of energy that helped us find the Island. With more calculations and research, I discovered something that changed the entire nature of the project, of everything."

"What was it?" Jack asked immediately, caught in the net of Faraday's ramblings.

"Not only does the Island move," Faraday sighed, "but it also travels through time."

* * *

><p>Angling her rifle's strap over her shoulder more snugly, Kate continued to make way through the trees, stopping only if absolutely necessary. There was still so much about this that unnerved her, but there was a thrill about it, an edge that kept her going, thriving. She'd spent the past four nights in deep, penetrating thought, thinking through what was happening to her, what was leading her on this path, and if it were worth it to keep going. She saw this cabin in her sleep, felt the spider webs tickle her skin as she walked through them once inside. She could hear the whisper in the wind, her name, caught in some other world, some other time even. This place haunted her… It was just like her to run away in fear, but it was also like her to test the boundaries, to push limits. She wouldn't be able to move on, she knew it wouldn't let her even if she wanted to.<p>

She worried for all of them now. With Sun pregnant, there was no telling what could happen to her between now and whenever Jack returned with rescue, which she still believed with all her heart was going to happen. She stopped suddenly at the sound of small rustling at her back, so infinitesimally minute that if it weren't for her rabbit ears she might not have heard it at all. It was probably a squirrel or some other small rodent, but her instincts told her that she was being followed. Quickly, she positioned her rifle in her hands, her finger poised on the trigger. Turning as she pointed it in place, where the sound had come, she screamed.

"I know you're out there!" Nothing but her thunderous echo and the squeaky chirp of scared birds greeted her, until they flapped away into the sky, squawking all the while. Could it be Rousseau? She thought. They hadn't bumped into her in awhile. Irritated with the lack of response, Kate gripped the rifle tighter in her hands for the perfect shot.

"Come out or I'll shoot!" She warned.

"Alrighty then," she heard in that memorable Southern drawl. Sawyer stepped into sight a few yards out, his hands playfully in the air as a sign of surrender, one of them waving as he smiled cheekily, his dimples in full bloom.

Kate lowered her rifle with a groan, grateful yet annoyed by the familiar face. "Sawyer?"

He walked down to her as if it were natural that she'd almost blown his head off, saluting to her with two fingers at his brow. "Hey Freckles, fancy meeting you here."

"Oh really?" She asked, her gun still lowered, but still tight within her fist. "What are you doing this far out of camp?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Oh you know, the usual. Takin' in some sun, gettin' some peace and quiet," his eyes turned on her then, "stoppin' you from getting yourself killed."

"You followed me out here?" She asked, obviously annoyed.

"Well, would you look at that, she finally gets the point." Sawyer said sarcastically.

"Unbelievable." Kate scoffed, placing her rifle back over her shoulder. "I don't need you to protect me, Sawyer, so just go back to the beach. I know exactly what I'm doing." She turned to walk away, but right on cue, he spoke up.

"Going back to some musty old cabin that you found in the middle of the jungle?" Sawyer pointed out, not giving up on his task. "I don't know, that sounds like the complete opposite of 'knowing what you're doing'."

Kate turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief and disgust. "Now you're eavesdropping on my conversations?"

Sawyer stepped into her, his temper nearing the surface. "You ain't really givin' me much choice, Kate." He was cornering her almost, looking down at her with hurt in his eyes. "You barely acknowledge my presence ever since you got back with Sayid, and dare I say, I'm startin' to take it personally."

"Oh, I get it. This isn't about me, this is about your bruised ego." Kate observed. "Well, I'm sorry that I have more things to do with my time than coddle your right to feel like you can tell me what I can and can't do."

Disgusted with her insinuation, Sawyer raised his voice. "You know damn well that's not it, Kate."

"Oh yeah? Then why is this such a big deal to you?" She looked him square in the eyes, her eyes penetrating straight through him. Her voice grew louder with her next question. "Why can't you just let this go?"

"Why can't you?" Sawyer yelled back.

"Because I can't!" She erupted, catching him off guard, causing him to back up a little. "I tried, but—" she stopped, noticing that she would just be wasting her breath. Sawyer was out to drag her back to the beach, he wasn't up for hearing her reasons why, he didn't even ask for them. He never asked. "You wouldn't understand."

Sawyer turned his back on her out of pure frustration with her lack of openness and willingness to help him understand. He combed his fingers through his tangled locks, the answer to any crazy thing this woman has ever done always came down to one person she lacked the ability to set free.

"Is this about the Doc?" He turned to her, his voice full of loathing and disdain. "The man who left you behind like trash for a spot off this miserable rock? It's been over a month, Kate. You still ready to fight for and defend his honor by getting yourself killed?"

And this was exactly why he would never get it, Kate thought. He would never see past the hurt in his heart that told him that she loved Jack more than she loved him. She knew that he knew, but there was still so much inside of him that wouldn't let go of her, that wouldn't admit to himself that this wasn't entirely about Jack, but the two of them and the mistakes he's not willing to face that they've made. He didn't see them as a mistake, but she certainly had and always would.

"I don't have time for this." Kate said, turning back onto her path, waving nonchalantly as she went. "Goodbye, James."

Sawyer shook his head as he watched her go, whispering, "I thought you might say that." She hadn't make it ten steps before another well-meaning friend made himself known to her, stepping out from his hiding place. Kate stopped and watched him wordlessly, their eyes communicating well before they spoke.

"Sayid." Kate said with the scathing squint of her eyes, not really shocked to see him going up against her again, but it still annoyed her.

"Kate." Sayid nodded, making eye contact with Sawyer, who stood back to watch their encounter.

She looked back at Sawyer over her shoulder, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her whittle and concede. "What? Did you think enlisting him was gonna strengthen your case?"

Sawyer shrugged his broad shoulders, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets now. "Couldn't hurt."

Sayid garnered her attention with the worry in his voice. "Kate, you need to think about this."

"Think about what?" She asked as she turned to meet his eyes, attitude burning within her tone.

"The fact that every time you step outside of our camp, you're giving Ben the opportunity to make good on his threat." Sayid revealed, catching all of Sawyer's attention.

"What threat?" Sawyer asked roughly, his voice pushy and impatient. Kate's eyes pleaded with Sayid not to continue, to lie or to spin what he'd just said.

"Sayid, don't—" Kate begged, but he spoke over her, now looking at Sawyer.

"When we were back at the barracks, after having been captured for trying to save Jack from a situation that he didn't need saving from, Ben and Kate had a little chat." Sayid confessed.

Angered that he'd actively betrayed her trust and confidence, Kate walked off with a hand cased over her forehead, staring into the distance, sure that this would make Sawyer more of an obstacle than he already was for her. She had never felt more undermined and belittled.

"Well?" Sawyer said, stepping up to Sayid now, begging for more details. "What the hell he say?"

"He said that if Kate ever got in his way again," Sayid looked over to her. She still stood with her back turned, not making any other effort to stop him, "that he would kill her."

"What?" Sawyer bristled loudly, turning his popping hot anger towards Kate. "And you're walking around in the jungle like you ain't got a neon target on your back?"

"I'm not headed anywhere near Ben or the barracks." Kate reasoned as she turned, glaring at Sayid over Sawyer's shoulder.

"And you think that makes a difference?" Sawyer yelled, still burning up over how she was so ready to disregard a blatant threat on her life after what they had been through together while held captive. "Do you not remember why he had Pickett on my ass every damn minute while they had us locked up like dogs?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, James." Kate spoke up; anger of her very own came spewing out. "I remember exactly what happened."

"The hell you do." Sawyer spit back, cutting Kate short of her defense. He stepped into her, careful to lower his voice, so Sayid couldn't hear, but he was still seething his point. "You act the cages never happened, like _we_ never happened, so I have no idea what else has conveniently slipped your mind."

Kate wordlessly looked down at her feet, and then away, slinking back from him ever so slightly, a move that illustrated the growing distance between them, that she had initiated ever since. His eyes were pleading, soft but still firm and relentless. "It happened Kate, and it's about time we talked about where this is headed and I'd like for you to be still for more than five seconds so we can figure it out."

"There's nothing to figure out!"

Her voice came out harsher than she meant for it to, her temper flaring and her decision set in stone. The look of devastation on Sawyer's face was sharper than any blade she had ever encountered. He lowered his head as he looked away from her, ashamed, embarrassed for having held on for as long as he had, to something happening between them that was as real as his feelings had effortlessly become.

Kate, realizing that her words had finally sunk in and stung like a hornet, attempted to apologize. "James, I'm—"

"I guess I was right after all, huh Freckles? I gotta be a dead man for you to give a damn." Sawyer accused. Kate didn't know what to say, her mouth wanting to convey how sorry she was, but her head resolved with the notion that it wouldn't help, that it still wouldn't be what he wanted to hear, that it would only make letting him down worse. "You ain't gotta worry about me gettin' in your way no more."

It wasn't supposed to happen this way, she thought. She never meant to hurt him, but somehow, she always had. "Sawy—"

Sawyer turned his back on her, his cold shoulder in full effect. "Come on Sayid, this was a waste of our damn time." He stomped off from where he'd came, leaving Kate to wallow in her grief. She stared after him regrettably and eventually placed her hands over her face, rubbing her fingertips into her closed eyes.

Sayid, who had watched on and heard everything, but resorting to it being none of his business, spoke up softly, "Kate..."

"Just don't." She said tiredly, but her eyes were fire and brimstone, staring at him with so much anger and betrayal he thought he'd spontaneously combust with it.

Sayid pleaded his case, rather meekly, knowing full well that he had crossed a line by telling Sawyer what he told him, but not feeling as sorry for it as she obviously wanted him to be. "I'm trying to help you."

"_Help me_?" She nearly screamed. "Like you did when we got back to the beach, when you went against me in front of everyone, like you're going against me right now? You revealed something that I told you in complete confidence. I can't trust you."

"'_Something_'?" Sayid asked, affronted. "You pass off a threat on your life like it's nothing. It's not nothing Kate, and of course you can trust me."

Kate shook her head, defiantly. "No, I can't, not when you're running behind Sawyer to make sure that I sit on the beach and knit a blanket like a good girl."

She resented how they were trying to manage her. She had always believed both Sawyer and Sayid understood this part of her, that adventurous, dangerous and impetuous side, more than anyone else had, even Jack, but they obviously hadn't, proving that they didn't trust her instincts or her ability to take care of herself. Despite the issues she and Jack had with her gravitation towards recklessness and his penchant for carefulness, he always trusted that no matter what, she could take on the world if need be.

"Haven't we lost enough already?" Sayid raised his voice, trying to get through Kate's petulant point of view. She stopped short, listening to him fully now. "Boone, Ana Lucia, Libby, Sha—" He turned his eyes from her then, cleared his throat, his hands hugging his hips.

"Shannon." He croaked out the word, his emotions caught in his throat. Kate could see the tears forming in his eyes. She knew that he still felt as though he failed her, that he should have done more to protect her, but everyone, even Sayid himself, knew how that story ended regardless of doing anything differently.

Kate approached her friend, the anger dissipated, compassion and empathy taking its place. "I know what I'm doing Sayid." He looked over at her, reading the obsession in her eyes. "I know it doesn't seem like it to you or to anyone else, but I know in my heart that this is what I'm supposed to be doing."

"I tried to let it go. There were more times than not where I actually thought I was losing my mind, and maybe I still am, but I have to see this through, all the way this time. No looking back." Kate said. There was a moment when she thought Sayid would continue to try to talk her out of this, but he only grinned lightly, the intensity in his eyes subsided, leaving warmth and trust.

"I believe you." He said, finally convinced of her dire need. "I apologize for trying to stop you."

"Well," she shrugged her shoulders, smiling, "Sawyer can be pretty dramatic, not to mention convincing."

"Right you are, but Ben's threat on your life is very real, you should start treating it so." Sayid warned.

"I know, but I'm not worried about it. Like I said, I have no intention of getting in his way anytime soon." She said. She cocked her head in the direction that Sawyer had gone. "You should catch up before you lose him."

"_You_ should be careful." Sayid said, not ready to leave her out here all by herself.

Kate smiled. "And I will be. You do the same."

He slowly took her hand, bent to his knee and kissed it. It reminded her of when he left the beach after doing something he swore he would never do again, the guilt and self-loathing so palpable, she was willing to give anything to make it okay for him. Now she was the one leaving their nest, and there was nothing he could do for her. There was nothing she wanted him to do.

They stared at each other in another wordless trance, both speaking their heartfelt goodbyes and well wishes without having to say a word. He rose, letting her hand fall back beside her as he turned to leave. She smiled after him before she returned to her own path.

* * *

><p>Jack rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, groaning loudly. "Through time…as in time-travel?" He asked, getting some reference point for what he read in the journal that sat under his arm beneath his jacket.<p>

"Yes." Faraday confirmed enthusiastically. "I've studied relativistic Physics my entire life, Jack. This electromagnetic energy is the key to the design of not only where the Island moves, but to what time it moves."

"Time-travel?" Jack asked again, caught in his own little confused world, still in disbelief of that word and how it was suddenly a reality for him. "This is crazy." He admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"I know it's a lot to take in, Jack, but it's the truth." Faraday tried to assure him.

Jack shook his head, still not assured or even sure that this conversation was actually taking place. "We've been on that Island for close to three months and we've never experienced time travel, or the Island having moved for that matter." Jack explained. What did it even look like, the Island moving? Was it seamless or would they notice? He wondered. "How do you explain that?"

"I can't." Faraday offered, a little stung by Jack's disappointment with that answer. "In that case, rescue should have found you. All I can say is it has to be a part of the Island's design. There's no scientific basis for it that I can clarify to you."

"Nothing about this is clear, Dan." Jack said in an aggravated and impatient tone. He knew that he was taking his anger out on Faraday, but none of this made even a little bit of sense to him. There was something else though, that was starting to make sense to him, that was beginning to connect for him.

"This project your mother funded all those years ago," He looked at Faraday with a speculative eye, "was it a part of the Dharma Initiative?"

Shifting anxiously, Faraday answered a question with a question. "How do you know about the Dharma Initiative?"

"While on the Island, Locke and I came across a hatch, buried deep underground, and inside that hatch was a man, Desmond. He had been there for some time, and he told us that he was told to press a button, and by pressing that button, he was saving the world." Jack said it with such derision and disbelief. To this day, pressing that button was just another chore that he and his friends were caught up in, that they had to plan things around.

"I didn't believe him, I still don't, but then we found these antique reels of a man in a lab coat, and he said that ever since some event, the new protocol had to be followed exactly as it was, punch in the code, then press the button every one-hundred and eight minutes."

"Yes, yes, of course." Faraday exclaimed, his voice rising in revelation, now pacing a hole into the floor, his mind racing, ticking. "The scientists that were assigned to the Island at the time must have figured out a way to discharge the buildup."

"I'm sorry?" Jack asked, not only confused, but annoyed that Faraday hadn't answered his question.

Faraday turned, his excited, enlightened temperament sparkling. "There was an incident in the summer of 1977. I had only read about it in old reports, but it had the potential of being pretty catastrophic."

"Catastrophic how?" Jack asked.

"The energy I talked to you about before, that lies underneath the Island, was tapped into by accident during an excavation project, and if they didn't figure out a way to keep this energy contained, the results would have been…cataclysmic." Faraday could read the confusion in Jack's eyes, the bemusement, and the worry.

"That is essentially the design of this hatch that was built right on top of it, like Chernobyl, to push that energy down into a sustainable form that was relatively harmless, inert. That's what your friend Desmond is doing down there."

"_Was_." Jack corrected him with a nod, his eyes travelling over the floor before he looked back up to him. "Was doing."

"What?" Faraday asked. Jack found it hard to admit this to him, especially after what he had just told him, but he had to know. Something inside of Jack knew that he had to know.

"The hatch blew, Dan. There's nothing containing this energy, not anymore."

"Oh no." Faraday whispered, the color in his face draining. He turned on his heel, pacing in one direction and then he turned back, his quirky mannerisms more pronounced, pointed. He looked stone-cold terrified, and the swift alter in the man's demeanor caught Jack somewhat off guard, a knot forming in his stomach. "When did this happen?"

Jack shook his head, confused, only relaying what he knew to be true. "I'm not exactly sure. I was in Ben's camp a week before I left and Locke showed up, tried to stop me from leaving, and told me that it was gone, that it had imploded."

Faraday dragged a nervous, shaking hand through his hair again, tousling it even more, a tiny sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead, his complexion a ghostly pale. This wasn't good, this really wasn't good. His usual calm and smooth voice was now rushed and shaky.

"We need to get you back sooner than I thought." He started shuffling papers on his desk, desperately in search of something. He opened a drawer only to slam it back in place to yank open another, but still hadn't found what he was looking for. Desperation grew into frustration as Jack watched him scurry about, clumsily shifting things, muttering as he perilously searched.

"Looking for this?" Jack threw the notebook that he'd been hiding onto the desk, causing Faraday to stop. There was a lull in the room, with Jack looking at Faraday expectantly, and Faraday looking down and around, anywhere but in the eyes of the man who sat across from him.

"You've been to the Island before, haven't you Dan?" Jack accused, his voice leveled, not rising in pitch at all, just asking a simple question.

Faraday stepped back from the desk, his head shaking. "I'm sorry Jack, but this isn't something that I particularly want to talk about, so—"

"Well, with all due respect Dan, the topic of my father wasn't up for discussion either, so I guess this would make us even, now wouldn't it?" Jack pushed, not willing for his question to go unanswered this time. He would get an answer whether Faraday liked it or not.

He picked up the notebook, and smiled down at it, sadly, tears coming to his eyes. "The year was 2002," He started with a long sigh, rubbing his hands over his face after dropping it back to the desk, "two years before your plane crashed. I volunteered to go to the Island, to run some of my own experiments and collect actual data about the electromagnetic energy source there; it was my research that solved the puzzle after all."

"Anyways, Dharma set up a team to go with me, six of us total, including one Charlotte Lewis." The air in his lungs rushed out as he said the name, obviously of someone who meant a great deal to him. The emotion in his face was blatant, but he tried to push it down, play it off, but failed miserably. "She and I worked very closely at Oxford before I joined with the Initiative. I invited her to come along with me to the Island, because besides myself, she was the only one who knew my research backwards and forwards. She said yes."

"We get to the Island and we're exploring, trekking, trying to find the perfect spot. One day, we came across this stream, literally in the middle of everything and that was where the readings on our instruments were the strongest they had ever been." He began pacing again, slowly this time. "This was it, this was our big break."

Jack listened fixedly, not missing a word. "The next day, we decide to trek even further. But—", he stopped short, taking in another puff of air, "the terrain was different somehow, darker, and suddenly this noise started to echo through the trees, this chittering, very slight, but growing louder, like a ticking, and then it faded away."

Faraday looked conflicted then. "But I saw something in the distance, and I almost convinced myself that I had imagined it, because as soon as I blinked, it was gone."

Realization lit Jack's facial features. "Was it a darting haze of black smoke?"

Faraday nodded. "You've seen it before."

"Yeah." Jack affirmed. "Yeah, I have." He suddenly didn't want to hear the rest of this story now, because any narrative that involved this creature wasn't going to end well for anyone involved.

"Something in the air changed in that moment, and my gut was telling me to get as far away from that place as possible, even though my radiation readings were through the roof." He walked away from his desk, and then turned back while swiping another hand through his hair. "I was ready to turn around, pull back and wait another day or so to go on, but the members of my team weren't ready to give up yet, so they kept going."

His smile was sad, but illuminated by the memory. "Charlotte was right beside me. She could see the worry in my eyes and she put her hand….rig—right in mine." Choking up, he tittered on the edge of breaking down completely or continuing with the story. "I turned to her and she said in the warmest tone, '_Everything is gonna be alright_', and I believed her." He could still see her smile, the sincerity and care in her eyes.

"Then there was this big, loud roar and all this noise, like something mechanical had gone complete haywire. I could barely hear anything, least of all my own thoughts. The ground started to quake and we could hear them screaming up ahead, our team." His voice broke then, his hands nervously fiddled as he intertwined his fingers and cupped the back of his head with them, panic running through him.

"That…thing was attacking them, and I knew they were dead, I just knew it." He looked over at Jack and could see the compassion in his eyes, the pain, and the emotional camaraderie.

"So, I grabbed Charlotte and we started to run, we didn't get too far before something dropped out of the sky, right in front of us." Faraday could barely breathe at this juncture, sucking in air like a madman. "He was dead, barely recognizable, completely mangled like this thing had chewed him up and spit him right out. Charlotte couldn't stop screaming and that's when it started to come after us. So I pulled her up and we ran as fast as we could."

"I was right behind her when I tripped and fell." His tone bruised, bristled. "When I got back up, it was gone, like it had disappeared into thin air." He braced himself again, breathing hard, fisting his hands and balancing himself with them as he steadied himself over the desk's surface. "Somehow, I'd lost track of Charlotte. I was suddenly all alone, so I called out to her, over and over and over again, but nothing. It was like she'd disappeared too."

"Then, I heard those noises again, the howling and screeching, and," he covered his face then, wiping at the tears that had come down his cheeks. "I heard her screaming my name," his voice was completely strangled, hoarse, full of anguish and a pain that would could never been soothed, "she needed my help."

"So I ran towards it, towards her, but I was too late." Jack covered his mouth with his hand, muting the agonized groan that funneled from his chest.

"I found her on the ground, bleeding, shaking. Her eyes were so wide." He recalled. "She looked over at me and I'll never forget the look on her face. She knew." Jack bowed his head, his eyes closing in a solemn prayer that this story didn't end the way he knew it would. He didn't even know this woman, but he mourned her death like he, he mourned her for Faraday, who was suddenly an open book, pouring his emotions into the atmosphere.

"She knew." He repeated with a cry. "So, I bent down next to her, and brought her into my arms. I stroked her beautiful red hair and caressed her cheek. I just looked at her, tried to remember her the way she was."

"I told her I was so sorry, that I was so so sorry." He cried. "She said that I had nothing to be sorry for. She told me that she loved me, always had and always would."

"I had always been in love with her, from the moment I laid eyes on her," he said it with such heart-trending agony, "but I could never tell her, I could never take that leap." He shook his head, a sad, tearful smile marked his face. "I never in a million years thought she would ever feel the same."

Jack shifted in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly. Faraday's fear of rejection, of his feelings never being reciprocated with the force that they were true and real, reminded him of himself and the mistakes he'd made with Kate. He was scared that she had never felt the same, and just resigned himself to never telling her that he loved her more than he loved himself. Now, it was too late to say anything at all.

"I held her for what felt like hours, rocking her back and forth. I told her that I loved her too, so much, but before I could get the words out, I felt her last breath leaving her body." Another tear moved down Faraday's cheek, but he wiped it away before it could get far, literally shaking himself now. "She was already gone."

Jack's heart felt like it had splintered into a million pieces. He looked up at him and then down again, shaking his head at the harrowing details of this inconceivable tragedy.

"Dan…I—I'm _so_ sorry." Images of the last nightmare he had, of Kate running through the jungle, away from the Smoke Monster, caught up with him, and haunted him. Would he have to mourn Kate like Daniel mourned Charlotte? Why was he seeing what he saw? Was it real? These questions were even more hard-pressed for answers.

"I ask myself the same questions over and over again." Faraday said, breaking through Jack's wandering thoughts. "What if I hadn't asked her to go? What if I hadn't fallen into the urge to want her there with me? She would still be alive, and maybe we would have found a way to tell each other how we felt, maybe we would be together right now."

He realized what he'd just burdened Jack with, pain that he never wanted anyone to experience, for him or for anyone. "God. I'm sorry." Faraday laughed at himself, surprised that he had revealed so much, everything. "I've never told anyone this before."

"I—I shouldn't have forced you to. I—" Jack failed to find the proper words, the appropriate way to apologize. He felt riddled with grief and sorrow for him, and in that moment, he knew that every detail of his story was the God honest truth. He could trust this man to help him. While he had his guard up at first, he didn't have to anymore, not after this. He couldn't afford to.

"No," Faraday collected himself, reigning in his emotions, "you should know this, that I'm not someone who's trying to manipulate you, Jack, that my concern for your friends is very real. They don't belong there, they will die there if I sit back and do nothing, if I didn't do something to help. I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen."

Now it all made sense to Jack now, why he was so invested, why he hadn't gone back to Oxford and was here in LA. There was nothing to go back for. For his mother, it was about keeping her secrets a secret, but for Dan, it was about not letting what happened to Charlotte happen to anyone else.

Faraday was back in action-mode, Jack realized, his eyes moving from soft and emotive to an intensity he'd never seen before. "There is a very narrow, quickly diminishing window of opportunity to get to the Island before its next transition. We better get moving." He reached for his jacket on the nearby coat-rack.

Taken by surprise, Jack stood, a little worried about how fast Faraday had switched the gears. "Where are we going?" He asked.

Once Faraday had his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, he picked up his notebook and placed it in the breast pocket, as he looked over at Jack, nodding in his direction.

"To get you a pilot."


	15. Final Beginnings

_**This chapter is dedicated to three readers who have continued to be here with me: yas-m, emerson123 and MorningGlory2. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. **_

* * *

><p>Jack parallel-parked across the street from the address that Faraday gave him. They were in the shadiest part of town, where being carjacked was the very least of someone's problems. Jack scoped out the front of the building, rather disappointed that this was their destination. The address was for a bar, a rickety sign that read '<em>Lucky's Tavern<em>' was placed above the solitary door that acted as the entrance and exit. The paint of the sign was both cracking and peeling from old age, abandonment. The place couldn't have much business, for the lack of cars in front of it, and its shoddy appearance, but not much this side of town looked appealing on the outside anyway.

Jack looked over at Faraday, who sat in the passenger seat, staring in the same direction. "This is it?"

Faraday simply nodded. "Yep."

"The most qualified man to fly me to the Island is in there?" Jack asked, bemused.

"Lets hope so." Faraday said as he opened the car door, hopping out. He remembered this as the only place he hung out in. If he wasn't here, then there was a very fat chance of finding him at all.

"His name is Frank Lapidus." Faraday said as they crossed the street. "He used to work for my mother as her personal pilot, would fly her all over the world. He's the best pilot I've ever seen man a cockpit."

They both entered the dark, shadowy bar, with no patrons in the booths or barstools. Nothing was animated about the place, except for the television that sat high above the bar. It was turned to the baseball game, the Red Sox versus those damn Yankees. A man sat at the edge of the bar; drink in hand, a small tray nearby for the ash of his cigarette to fall into, grumbling at the television when a Rex Sox player hit a grand slam, all bases loaded, and the game heading into a tie in the eighth inning. The swear words coming from the man's mouth were both hilarious and terrifying, his tight Brooklyn accent bringing an immediacy to his threats. Obviously a passionate Yankee fan, enough to bleed crimson blue until his dying day, Jack presumed, as he thought it best to keep his Red Sox obsession a well-kept secret.

"That'd be Frank." Faraday said, watching as his old friend guzzled from a short glass.

Once they got closer, Frank's appearance came into full view. His hair was long, uncombed, rather tangled, sprinkled with grey coloring and his beard and mustache were the same texture and color. He wore winkled jeans with a crumpled, collared, open button-up, the palm tree patterns completely contrasted with the gloomy atmosphere. The dirty tank he wore underneath it covered his chest hair. He brought his glass to his mouth again, downing the alcohol.

"Frank?" Faraday said by way of greeting, stepping in closer.

"Who the hell wants to know?" Frank barked as he kept his eyes glued to the TV screen, taking in a puff of his cigarette and then tapping it on the edge of the ash tray.

"Daniel, Daniel Faraday."

Frank turned to him, his eyes bulging in the dimly-lit space. "Dan?" His voice came out softer, endearing almost.

Faraday smiled, not sure of how he would react to seeing him again. "Hey Frank. It's been a long time."

Frank offered his hand and Faraday took it, shaking it. "Two years as a matter of fact. How ya been?"

"Good, good." Faraday replied. They both were smiling at this point, until Frank noticed Jack, who was standing away from the moment "Who's your friend?"

"This is Jack Shephard. Jack, this is Frank Lapidus." Faraday said, gesturing towards Frank.

Jack extended his hand. "Nice to meet you." Frank, not really one to trust easily, looked at Jack's hand suspectingly before he took it, shaking it roughly.

"Likewise." He said, suddenly very suspicious as to why Dan was here and why he brought someone along with him. "So, Danny Boy, what brings you down to my bar?"

"This is _your_ bar now?" Faraday asked with a small laugh.

Frank beamed proudly. "Yep, won it in a poker game." It wasn't much, that he would and could admit, but it was his, that's all he knew and cared about now that a new career was in order. "So, again, what brings you to Lucky's?"

Faraday approached the bar's ledge and leaned into it on one folded arm, facing Frank. "I need a favor."

Frank let out a hoarse chuckle. "Your kind of favors have a high interest rate, Dan." He looked over at Jack and back to Faraday while he puffed on the edge of his cigarette, tapping it against the ash tray again. "Why don't I just give you and your friend here an open tab? All the alcohol you're willing to one day pay for."

"You know I don't drink, Frank." Faraday reminded him.

"Well, you should." Frank said with more laugher in his voice. "You're too wet behind the ears, Danny Boy. Always doing what that witch you call a mother tells you to. Man, am I happy I quit that circus."

Faraday, while he knew it was true, cocked his head violently at Frank's insult. His mother wasn't the warmest person on the planet. She was a bonafide Ice Queen to pretty much everyone she knew, but as her son, he was the only one who knew a softer side, one he had to fight to learn about, but was there nonetheless. They had their issues, but she was his mother and he wanted to be here, he wanted to help. His involvement was his idea.

Instead of beating around the bush, Faraday got to the point. "I found a job for you, Frank, as a pilot."

Frank looked into his friend's eyes, that glazed over stare was now a blazing hot fire. His voice took a turn from playful to serious. "Now, you know damn well I haven't flown a plane since I flew you and the rest of those geeks to that Island where they were all murdered."

He brought his glass up to his mouth and didn't take a sip until after he finished his thought. "You would have been just like 'em had I not gotten you out of there."

"Wait a minute." Jack spoke up from beside them, confronting Faraday about the revelation. "This is the pilot that flew you to the Island?"

Frank barked over his shoulder, defensively. "Yeah, I am. What's it to you?

"Okay, Frank. Listen to me." Faraday pleaded, trying to calm him down. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but I need you to do it again."

Frank laughed hysterically, shaking his head as he lowered it over the surface of the bar. He looked over at Faraday, his eyes still burning hot, but dimmer, still holding on to the idea that this was some prank that someone was playing on him.

"I must be drunker than I thought, because I know I didn't hear you ask me to fly to that hell hole you call a science project, where you were almost killed, by the way." He pointed out ardently.

Faraday nodded, keeping his eyes on him to prove his earnestness. "That's exactly what I'm asking you to do."

Frank stood up from the barstool rather quickly, glass in hand, almost toppling over on wobbly legs, but finding his balance. He whipped around, staring Faraday down between the squint of his eyes, offended. "Why the hell would you ask me to do something like that? You got a death wish? After what almost happened to you the last time, you—"

"I'm not the one who needs to go back." Faraday interrupted him. In that moment, Frank realized just why Faraday had brought Jack along.

"Who, then? This guy?" Frank gestured towards Jack with the hand that held his glass, alcohol spilling to the hardwood floor. "You think I'm risking my neck for some stranger? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because there was a plane crash, Frank," Faraday said calmly, garnering all of his attention. The indignant, combative position he took dissipated into interest. "Over two-hundred passengers and only about forty survived."

Frank stepped back a little, blown away by the news. "A commercial flight, huh?"

"Yeah. It was coming from Sydney, Australia and was supposed to land at LAX, but it never did." Faraday explained. "This crash happened about four months ago, and these people have been stuck on that Island ever since." Frank bowed his head, saddened by the news, but still not all there. Jack looked over to Faraday, who shrugged, not sure what Frank would do or say next.

Instantly, recognition lit within Frank's features. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to jumpstart his now drunken memory. "Wait a second." He rubbed at his head as he walked over to Faraday, his drink still dripping from his glass. "Four months ago. Are you talking about Oceanic Flight 815?"

Jack and Faraday shared a look of wonder and bafflement. How could he possibly know this? Jack spoke up, infatuated with learning more. "Does that flight mean anything to you?"

Frank looked over to Jack, his demeanor softer, shaky, but dead certain. "You damn right it does. I was supposed to pilot that flight." It was Jack's turn to take a few steps. He couldn't believe what a small world it was becoming. He swiped a hand over his mouth, in a state of pure confusion, which wasn't new for him at all, not these days.

"Why didn't you?" Jack had to ask.

Frank shrugged, his voice slurred again, tired, and embarrassed by what he was about to admit. "Overslept. I was too wasted from the night before to walk a straight line, let alone pilot a Boeing over seven-thousand miles with nothing but ocean looking up at me. Blame it on the complimentary booze."

Faraday chimed in. "I didn't know that you worked for Oceanic."

"I didn't." Frank said, going on to explain. "815 was supposed to be my first day on the job, my first piloting gig ever since…you know. I got cold feet, drunk myself silly and you know the rest."

He looked over at Jack, who was rubbing the back of his head, his mind elsewhere. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this crash? There was nothing about it in the papers, or on the news."

"Because my mother covered it up." Faraday admitted, expecting Frank to be outraged, and he didn't disappoint.

"Why the hell would she do that?" Frank exclaimed, just as angry about that as Faraday thought he would be.

Faraday moved from his slouched position at the bar, walking towards him. "It's complicated, Frank."

"Well, _un_complicate it for me, Einstein." Frank's voice was back to that angry, bothered register, frustrated with the lack of detailed explanation. "I'm missing the game."

"Maybe I can help?" Jack interjected, trying to diffuse Frank's temper before he decided to kick them out.

Faraday gave Jack the floor, hoping that he could talk some sense into Frank. "I was on that flight, Frank. I was stuck on that Island and the only reason I'm standing here is to get help for the people that I left behind." Jack cleared the emotion from his throat, tears coming to his eyes. "Two of them happen to be my sister and her son, my nephew." Faraday looked over at him with solemn, shocked eyes. Jack hadn't told him that, and now he wondered why that was.

"I know that we're asking for the impossible, Frank but Dan says that you're the best pilot out there and only you can get the job done. I trust him and his instincts. I am _begging_ for your help, and if you agree to do this, anything you want in return is yours."

Frank took a moment to think about Jack's offer, then spoke. "Before I give you any kind of answer, I want to ask one question, and you gotta answer honestly. You got it?" He bargained.

"Of course." Jack nodded, willing to do just about to anything to get this man to agree to help him.

"Captain Seth Norris, the pilot who took my place. He's a friend, the one who talked me into giving myself a second chance." He took a staggered breath, holding back tears. "He recommended me for the job with Oceanic. He's one of the good ones, married, two young kids. He one of the survivors?"

Flashes of those harrowing moments in the cockpit that first day flooded Jack's memory. The raucous sounds of the beast outside the wreckage, of what he now knew to be the Smoke Monster, came back to him. He remembered a kind man who wanted to help them as much as possible before the sight of him being ripped through the window pane was all he had left.

Jack shook his head as he looked down to the floor, deeply sorry for being the bearer of terrible news. "I'm sorry Frank, he, uh—he didn't make it."

Frank wanted to ask for specifics, but he didn't need them, didn't really want them. He looked physically sick, stepping back as if that would help his desperate need of air. "Damn." He swore in a whisper as he staggered to the area behind the bar, Jack and Faraday looking on worriedly. He grabbed a bottle from nearby and poured its contents into his glass, drinking it thirstily. To say that he was crushed was an understatement.

"I'm sorry, Frank." Faraday offered.

"It shoulda been me, Dan." Frank admitted while pouring another drink, fat, stubborn tears in his eyes. "I mean, look at me," he gestured to himself, disgusted. "I sit here every damn day and get drunk off my ass, because I can. I'm nothing to nobody, but he—", he coughed back the cry that tried to escape, "he had a family, people who depended on him. He believed that I could pull myself together, and I let him down. He didn't deserve this. I did."

"Frank, you can't think like that, it won't help anything, believe me, I tried." Faraday urged.

"You know the very real dangers that are on that Island as much as I do, and there are people still there that don't deserve to die like Seth and Charlotte did." Frank looked up at him then. They shared a look of pain, real blistering pain. Frank remembered the redheaded scientist vividly, her exuberance and smarts, but what he remembered most was just how much Daniel loved her, how it was so evident in his smile, his eyes, and in everything he was when she was near.

"Please, Frank. Help me help them." He could see that shell cracking, that tough Brooklyn exterior that sheltered this caring man that had been locked up inside for way too long. "We're the only ones who can." Frank looked over to Jack, and saw the same pleading, puppy dog look in his eyes as he had in Faraday's, both men breaking him down where he stood.

"Alright I'll do it." Frank blistered. Jack let go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in until the pressure in his chest subsided.

"Thank you, Frank." Faraday said, letting go of the same stalled breath Jack had.

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled, taking another shot of whiskey to somehow cure the bout of insanity he must be suffering through. "I must be out of my damn mind to agree to this."

"No. You're the man I've always known you to be." Faraday said with a smile. Frank couldn't help but smile back. The kid was a good person, decent, kind, brave, smart beyond measure, he thought, and he admired the hell out of him for it.

"Yeah, well, you owe me one, Faraday, a big one," Frank half-joked, "and I _will_ collect."

Faraday grinned, laughing. "I know you will."

* * *

><p>The rain came down in buckets, soaking Kate to the bone as she led on. The sky was filled with lightning, crackling and rumbling all around her after about four hours of unrelenting sunlight. She was freezing, silently chastising herself for cursing the heat that once radiated around her. At least she could pull what little clothing she brought with her off, but with it being so wet and chilled, she didn't have enough to keep dry or warm. The weather had to be terrible when she was moving forward and never looking back.<p>

She had been following her old tracks, which were not as obvious to her after four days of age, but with the tireless rainspout, there was nothing left to follow but her God-given sense of direction and instinct. The ground was slippery under the soles of her boots and it was getting harder to keep her balance in most places. Of what little sign that she had been here before faded away, she kept moving, hoping to find a dry spot to make camp, at least until the rain stopped.

Thunder clapped through the sky then, echoing through the wet leaves, scaring her out of her thoughts and making her lose her balance. She fell to the ground, slipping down the slight bulge of the incline she was walking over at the time. Now muddy to add to her wet and cold state, she cursed out loud. Standing up slowly, not interested in falling again, she tried to think of what to do now that she was literally running around blind in a thunderstorm. The last time this happened, the Smoke Monster attacked, and with her luck, it could very well attack again.

She got a hold of herself and stumbled forward a few yards, trembling out of fear and cold. Head tilted to the ground to reduce the raindrops that fell on her face, she noticed the edge of a square hole in the ground in the near distance. She could literally see earth beneath the grass that curled over and down, into what could only be a ditch in the middle of the jungle. Stepping closer, she could see the rest of it, how the ground caved in there, mistakable by the untrained eye, but Kate felt like she knew these grounds now, every inch, and she had felt like she was off track awhile ago, way off, but she knew it for sure now.

She pulled out the flashlight she packed and turned it on, pointing it downwards once she reached it. So much for Tom joking about a mass grave in the backyard, she thought that she continued to peer into the ditch, startled and horrified. Bodies on top of more bodies greeted her, fleshless, nothing but bone and teeth remained. It was like a scene out of a horror movie. They kind of reminded her of the skeletons in the caves, but with the way those two were staged, someone had left them there deliberately, a sacred resting place probably. But these bodies were just haphazardly thrown down this trench, abandoned, years ago from the looks of it.

She moved in closer, kneeling, her flashlight waving over every corner when she noticed the octagonal emblem on their old, ratted clothing, the same emblem she noticed in the hatch and on the labels of the goods that lined their kitchen back at the beach. The same emblem that Desmond wore on his jumpsuit, before fleeing the hatch, leaving them to shoulder the responsibility of it. Were these his people? What happened to them? Who did this to them?

Discovering all that she could there, and realizing that she would probably never get answers to her questions, she backed away and kept moving. With the rain still pouring down, Kate had decided that finding shelter until it passed was her best bet of survival. In that moment, she noticed something beyond the trees, peeking at her and out of curiosity that just wouldn't quit, she walked towards it, her eyes widening. She sighed, in awe of her dumb, ironic luck.

The cabin.

It had snuck up on her again, breaking a smile through her tired, wet face. Although she was happy to see it once again, she felt like this wasn't where the cabin had been before. She was pretty freaked out after the Smoke Monster's attack, but she was pretty sure that she wouldn't have missed a big ditch of dead bodies the last time she was here. Or maybe she had.

The circle of black ash remained unbroken as she skipped over it, approaching the front door. She found the lantern right where it was the last time, hanging on the porch, against the door frame. Deciding that it would be better to save the battery power in the flashlight, she reached in her pack for matches and lit the wick, turning the knob on the side to brighten the flame while turning the flashlight off. She stepped inside, and the stale smell of it brought her reprieve. The trembling fear she once felt was completely gone. She knew that she was safe here. No matter what lie outside these walls, she knew she was protected. Nothing could hurt her here.

She let go of a relieved breath. Sitting her pack and the lantern on the wooden table as she closed the door behind her, she looked around. It was just the same as she'd left it. She shrugged out of the wet jacket that clung to her like a second skin, and took out a couple of rags from her bag. If she was going to stay here, the dirt and grime had to go.

"Time to get to work." She mumbled to herself.

Moments later, Kate plopped down onto the bed, which was now covered with a fresh sheet and blanket. She was sweaty, dirty, tired, but she grinned at her surroundings. The place wasn't the most extravagant by anyone's estimation, but it was now cleaner than it has been before. She wiped at her forehead with her forearm, ready for sleep and ready to finally figure out what was drawing her here.

This place, for all the risks she took to find it, was her home now.

* * *

><p>Jack came through the front door of his apartment, setting his keys down on the table next to it, his adrenaline pumping in his veins. Tomorrow was the day. Faraday had set everything up, the pilot, the plane, everything. He couldn't believe how fast things were happening. He paced his living room, silently jumping for joy. He ran his hands through his hair as he blew out a tired, angsty breath, seeing things clearer than ever before. He was going back to the Island, to save his friends, but to also figure what the hell it was doing to <em>him<em>. He had to know already. The suspense of it was more chilling than anything he has ever experienced.

He was standing in the middle of his living room when he noticed the envelope on the dining room table. His father's letter. He walked over to it, picked it up slowly, stared at it painfully. He flipped it over in his hands, hesitated to open it. What would it say? Would it echo his mother's plea for him to stay in LA or would his father's last words to him be of something else? Would they shine a light on what his father had always hidden from him, denied to him?

He was poised to open it when he heard a key slide into the doorknob and twist. He turned towards it, watching as she entered the space, her eyes landing on his as soon as she looked up from pulling her key out of the deadbolt that wasn't even locked.

"Mom?"

"Hello, Jack." Margo walked in very casually, her purse hanging from her right arm, her hair swept up into a loose, stylish bob and her clothing just as professional and conservative as they always were. She looked cool on the outside, but Jack knew his mother, and he knew there was a storm brewing underneath her calm demeanor. She was hurt and disappointed and he was sure he'd hear all about it.

"What are you doing here?" Jack asked, the letter still gripped in his fist. He folded it quickly and stuck it into his pocket as her back was turned.

She sat her purse down on the couch, turning back to her handsome son. "I've given you your space, an entire month's worth. I've called, left messages, but I've run out of patience." Before she could start in on him, Jack thought it best to stop her and tell her everything, what he should have told her the second he was home.

"Mom—"

"The Board won't wait much longer, Jack." She interrupted him, her voice stern and frigid. "We need to act fast to get you implemented. They've been lenient, because of what you've been through, but now they're taking your hesitance as a sign that you're not ready, that you don't want it bad enough."

"Mom—"

"They want you to go through some type of counseling, to work through your survivors' guilt, because that's what I think this it is. You closing yourself off from the world in this way, it has to be some type of post-traumatic—"

"Mom!" Jack raised his voice. This was what she always did. She encroached, bombarded, demanded, and he would have to let her down, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He looked at her regrettably. "I can't."

Margo sighed. "Not this again, Jack." She walked closer to him, her voice growing harsher with every step she took. "I thought that time and reflection would bring you some perspective, to help you understand that this is—"

"I lied to you." He couldn't take it anymore, blurting out the confession, crushing his mother's heart in the process. "About where I've been, how I got back, about everything."

Visibly stung, Margo moved back from him, bracing herself. "What are you talking about?"

With his hands on his waist, he looked down at the floor, not able to look her in the eyes just yet. "There was a plane crash, that much is true, but it didn't crash where I told you it did, and I wasn't the only survivor."

"What?" She asked. "I don't understand."

"I was told that I couldn't tell anyone, that it needed to stay a secret, but things have changed and now you have to know." Jack looked up at her then. "I crashed on this Island, I don't even know where it is or what it is, but there are people still there, people who were on that plane too. I promised them that I would come back, and now I can."

"So, in the meantime, you decided to deceive your mother into believing that you were staying, that you were actually home for good?" She sounded betrayed, violated, and Jack knew he was in for it now.

"Mom, I didn't—" He tried to explain the unexplainable.

"Don't you dare, Jack!" She spewed, seething. "I just got you back and you're ready to just leave again?"

"I can't just leave them there, and go on with my own life like it never happened, like I can forget them." Jack defended himself. "That's what you want, isn't it? For me to live the life that you and Dad had planned out for me, no questions asked?"

"What is _so_ wrong with that?" She asked, exasperated. "Your father is dead, Jack. He's never coming back. I have an entire house full of reminders, of what I've lost, of the life that he promised he would be there for, always. But he's not is he? He broke that promise, he left me and now you're doing the same thing."

"There's more." Jack admitted repentantly.

Margo groaned, not sure if she could take much more. "Of course there is." Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she rubbed her head.

"One of the survivors is a young girl, mid-twenties. She…she—" There was no easy way to tell her this, Jack realized. There was no easy way to break it to her. "She's his daughter, Mom." He shook his head and then completed his thought. "I have a sister."

Margo looked blank, emotionless. She turned away from him, retreating from him. A little confused by her response to her husband lying to her about a child he had with another woman, Jack walked up behind her, ready and willing to comfort her through this. He placed his hands where they hovered over her shoulders, not touching, but in position to do so if she needed him to. They stood there for minutes, and Jack began to really worry. She was too quiet, he thought, too composed about this bombshell. Something was wrong here.

"Mom?" She eventually turned back to him, her hand covering her mouth, her head shaking in panic. Jack could read the look in her eyes; he could smell the deceit all over her. It was clear to him now. He dropped his hands to his side, enlightened, suddenly angry himself, outraged.

"You knew." He said it as fact, he didn't ask, or ponder it. He knew it; he could see it in her face. Margo continued to stare at him, letting go of a small puff of air with a stifled cry. She could hear the feelings of betrayal in his voice, feelings she never wanted him to discover. "You knew about her all this time."

"Jack, I—" She reached for him, but he pulled away before she could, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. His mother knew about Claire. His father obviously knew about Claire, from birth even, but he was the only person who didn't know about her. Even Juliet knew before him. Did everyone know?

"You were never supposed to find out about her, Jack. That's the way it was supposed to be." Margo pleaded with him, sobbing. "He promised me that you would never know." He promised? Jack thought while he tried to fight the nausea that fisted through his stomach.

"What?" He asked, the hurt in his eyes and voice combined jabbing. Margo realized that she had revealed too much about a conversation that happened too long ago to dive into now, but she knew her son, and she knew that he wouldn't let this go. The betrayed, upset part of him wouldn't let her hide from this. She went cold, still, and Jack knew that she wasn't going to elaborate unless he forced her to.

While approaching her, he called, "Mom." His tone was no-nonsense, deep. She looked up at him, tears rolling down from her eyes. His voice became softer at the sight of them, but he still pushed, prodded. "What did you do?"

She wiped at her tears angrily as she backed away from him, suddenly defensive now that he sounded like he thought she had done something horridly wrong by protecting her family, their family. "What do you think I did?" Her clipped, strangled voice spat. "I gave him an ultimatum. I made him choose. His mistress and illegitimate daughter or his wife and son. I don't have to tell you what choice he made."

She was so guiltless, so justified in what she had done, but there was that part that he could see clearly, the part that struggled with what she did for years now, but she was stubborn and refused to see how damaging that ultimatum was for so many people, Claire being at the top of that list.

"Is that why he picked Australia to run off to?" Jack asked, nearly cutting her off. "Is that why you were in such a hurry for me to get down there to get him? Because you thought that he'd be with her?" He spewed.

"Jack, you don't—"

"She was pregnant when we crashed, Mom. Did you know that too?" Jack accused, letting all of his anger and hurt come through without reservation. "She was coming here to give her baby away."

"How is that your problem?" Margo exclaimed.

"I could've helped her!" Jack shouted, astonished by his mother's selfishness. From what he remembered about his conversations with Claire, she was alone, in life, especially in her pregnancy, finding no way out but to give her child to someone she thought was better suited to love and provide for it. Looking back on those conversations they had and how protective and crazed she was about her child's health and welfare, no one was better suited to be Aaron's mother than her.

"I could know her as my little sister and not the stranger I thought she was, that you wanted her to be." He scoffed, turning his back on her, welcoming the view of the skyline outside his balcony window. He understood her feelings of betrayal and would take her side any day when it came to what his father had put her through over the years, but what she had done in return was just as selfish as the cheating.

He turned back and saw that she was now sitting on the couch, sulking in a pool of her own guilt and shame. She looked so small, so terribly tiny and truly broken up for having lied to him, about what she had done. No matter what, she was his mother, and beyond the hurt he felt, he wanted to know how it all happened. He came over and sat down next to her, letting the silence persist for a minute longer before he spoke, his voice calmer now, less judgmental and cruel.

"How did you find out?"

"He told me." She answered blankly. "He sat me down and told me that he had been seeing someone for about two years, that he met her at a medical conference in Melbourne."

Margo stared listlessly in front of her, lost in her memories of the conversation. "I didn't understand why he was telling me. He never told me, he just did what he wanted. I knew about all the other women, the late nights at the hospital weren't always about his patients, but when he confessed about her, I knew that this woman was different somehow, that he had fallen for her." She wiped a tear away from her face, the next part of the story the most hurtful to her, even after all these years.

"He then told me that she was pregnant, and that she decided to keep it, and he wanted her to keep it." Jack winced at this new information. He wanted to reach out to her, but he felt she would reject the comfort if he tried. He realized that by making Christian promise not to tell him, his mother knew that he wanted to, that he planned to.

"He wanted to tell me." He sounded startled, shocked, because his father wasn't one to divulge his secrets.

Margo nodded sadly. "You were thirteen at the time, away at boarding school for the summer. By the time you'd gotten home, we decided that he would never see her or his daughter, so it wouldn't make sense to tell you."

She chuckled deprecatingly as she looked over at him. "I don't even know her name."

Jack knew that she was talking not about the woman her husband was sleeping with, but the child they created together. "It's Claire." Jack said, looking into his mother's hazel eyes. "In hindsight, she has his eyes."

And he had hers, he thought as he continued to lock gazes with Margo, finding the hue and shape of her orbs very familiar. He watched the small smile reach her lips at the shared detail. She knew those eyes all too well. She missed them so much. She wouldn't know how to react if she ever met this young woman who had her husband's stormy grays.

"Does she know that he's dead?" Margo asked.

"I didn't even know she was my sister until a month ago, Mom. I don't know what she knows." He answered as he stood up from the couch.

"You said she was pregnant when the plane crashed." She recalled interestedly.

"Yeah, uh, she was eight months along. She told me that her doctor cleared her for the flight, but I think she was lying just to get me off her case. She had a little boy about twenty days in. His name is Aaron." He said it with a small smile of his own.

"I'm sure he's beautiful." She said honestly.

Jack stopped pacing in front of her, set with his mission and unwilling to fight any longer about it. "I have to get the both of them off that Island, Mom. I won't abandon them. You can hate me for it all you want, but—"

Margo stood abruptly, reaching for her son. She cupped his face in her feeble hands, proud, but sad tears in her eyes. "I could never hate you. I hate this decision. I hate that it has to be you, but this is who you are, Jack. This has always been who you are." She said it with such relief, although he could still hear the fear and hesitation.

"I was scared of losing him, so I made him ditch his own daughter just to make sure I never would. I was selfish with him, and I'm ashamed of that, but I can't be selfish with you. I understand that now." She nodded, more tears falling, causing him to hold back his own. She lowered her hands to his shoulders. "When are you leaving?"

"First thing in the morning." He said deplorably, watching her eyes close and open again on an agonized, longing sigh.

She pulled him into a hug, her tiny arms holding him so tightly. Her voice was choked with emotion, muffled against the bulge of his shoulder as she let herself be held by her son. She felt so small in his arms, so protected and loved.

"You be careful, Jack. Do you hear me?" She felt him nod his head against hers. "I love you."

He held to her with all he had, finally letting the tears fall. "I love you too."


	16. Never Say Never

Eloise Hawking's private airport was pretty much empty except for a few technicians and mechanics that greeted Jack as he walked through the open garage. He walked across the concrete flooring, his boots making a tapping noise as he made his way to the other end, which was wide open, the sun shining through. Once there, he couldn't dare miss the plane that towered over its landing. The plane was large, modern, long and sleek, glistening in the sunlight. It could seat about thirty people by his estimation. He was no expert on aircraft, but this was no frilly bucket that would break if the wind blew East instead of West.

He spotted Frank at the edge of the stairs that led to the inside, talking to someone in a very friendly manner. An old buddy, Jack presumed. He was bound to know a lot of people if he worked here for as long as Faraday told him he had. He looked better, still very hairy and unkempt, but sober and awake, which was more important.

"Jack!" Frank noticed him as he continued to drink in the plane's scale. He was closing in with his hand outstretched.

"Hey, Frank." Jack greeted him, walking up to meet him with a light smile, shaking the man's hand.

"How ya doin'?" Frank asked.

"Didn't sleep a peep last night, but besides that, pretty good." Jack admitted, nervously. "You?"

"I gotta tell ya, it feels good to be back. It's like I never left." Frank sighed as he followed Jack's eyes back to the plane. He turned back to him, a playful tone mingled with seriousness. "You're still crazy as hell for doin' this."

"So I've been told." Jack nodded with a smile, still staring at the monstrosity before him. "So_ this_ is the plane we're flying back in?"

"Yep. Private jet, seats about twenty-five. Top of the line. Flies like a dream." Frank said confidently, grinning up at the plane like a kid in a candy store. "She's beautiful isn't she?"

If Jack didn't know any better, he could actually hear adoration in Frank's voice, mixed with starry-eyed wonder and dangerous infatuation. He loved planes, he loved being a pilot. There was no denying it now. It opened him up in ways that were true and real. He loved this plane, flying almost as much as his Yankees, which was saying a whole lot.

Frank finally came down from his fascination long enough to notice that someone was missing from the moment. "Where's Dan? Didn't he say he'd be here?"

"Yeah, he did, but just in case, he wrote down everything you need to know to get me back. Let me grab it." Jack pulled the pack from his shoulder and started to unzip pockets. He bent down on one knee while he searched.

"Hey Frank." One of the mechanics called out from nearby. "We need you."

Frank departed as Jack continued to rummage through his backpack. He came across the letter he'd written for Claire last night, which was the one of the many causes of his sleeplessness. What was he supposed to say to her when he saw her again? How could he put into words that they were siblings, that after all this time, they were family and always would be? It was the coward's way out, to give her a letter, to have her read something like this instead of being sat down and told face to face, he just didn't know how to do that, and when it was all said and done, he wasn't sure he would have the time to explain everything. He guessed that was what happened with his father and the letter he'd left behind. Between the hurt feelings, the misunderstandings and his disappearance to Australia, there wasn't time to really talk. Now there never would be.

Taking his attention from Claire's letter, Jack dug his hand into a different pocket and finally pulled out the folded piece of paper that was covered in Faraday's handwriting. Upon opening it, another folded sheet fell to the ground at Jack's feet. Curious, he picked it up and opened it. The grainy printout of Kate's mugshot was old, tattered, the paper it was printed on falling apart. He was in deeper than he ever thought possible as he felt the slug to his chest at the sight of her face, blank of any human emotion, but he remembered its animation in any situation, each and every contortion of her freckled features was irreversibly etched into his memory.

The anticipation of seeing her again drove him in ways he never thought possible, comprehendible. How did he still have her mugshot? He distinctly remembered handing it back to her before departing for the caves, after he'd been caught staring at it just as he was now, by the subject herself, with a huge lump in his throat, curiosity in his eyes, and baffled entanglement at her many contradictions. All behind this small, mighty woman, who wouldn't stop moving long enough to see him right in front of her. He should have asked in more direct terms that she go with him, but she was too unbridled for that, too singular for the sheltered security that he wanted to provide. More than anything, he wanted her to come to him, to surprise him at the cave's opening, with her things in tow, and be willing to learn more about and understand what the hell was going on between the two of them, so quickly and so suddenly. It was a dream that had long since died.

She wanted off the Island as soon as humanly possible, more so than he and many of the others. Anything that was moving away from it, she wanted on it, would sign any bad deed to get it done. She was always going her own way. Who was he to ask her not to?

Who knew which direction the wind would blow her in once they returned to civilization. Would she run? Would she believe in the second chance she deserved? He still wanted to know, he still cared. He always would. A million more questions ran through his mind. Did she think about him even half as much as he thought about her? Did she feel the ache of their separation as much as he did? Did she miss him? At all, even a little bit? There was still the mystery of what he saw when he closed his eyes on more than one occasion, always something to do with her and her alone. What was that about?

Damn was he a glutton for punishment. Kate was most assuredly fine without him, he presumed, while he found his sanity unraveling without her, around her, enveloped so much more than he wanted to be, especially now that she was devoted to someone else. So much for cutting his losses.

"Who's the girl?" Frank's baritone blasted, making Jack jump slightly. He quickly folded the piece of paper and stuffed it back into the pocket he found it in as he stood.

"She's nobody." His voice came out raspy as he cleared the lump choking him.

Frank's burly eyebrows went reaching for the sky in doubt. Bullshit, he thought as he smirked at him. "Nobody huh?"

"Here's what Dan gave me after we left your bar yesterday." Jack changed the subject, unfolding the paper he sought and handing it to him. "I have no idea what it means, but he told me that you have to follow it very carefully, or the consequences—"

"Yeah, yeah. Nothing I haven't heard before." Frank said, studying the numbers and words on the piece of paper, outlined fairly neatly in Faraday's handwriting. "If I don't follow those coordinates down to the very number, we're both screwed."

"Make that the three of us." A feminine voice spoke up from behind them. Jack and Frank turned to it. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, a pair of jeans fit to her long legs and a modest t-shirt clung to her. The sling-bag she wore over one shoulder completed the dressed-down, adventurous look.

"Juliet? What are you—What—?" Jack sputtered.

"Nice to see you too, Jack." Juliet smiled, walking up to him.

Frank nodded to her in greeting and excused himself with Faraday's instructions in hand, allowing them some time alone.

Jack finally caught his bearings, smiling. "What are you doing here? How do you know about this?"

"Your friend Dan. He came to see me a couple of days ago. Told me about the people that were following us, and that he has a way of helping you get back to the Island."

Jack shook his head. "He shouldn't have involved you."

"He didn't involve me, Jack. I literally had to pry the information out of him." She smiled, shrugging lightly. "Wasn't too hard."

"You were right, about everything." He admitted, his eyes round with regret for brushing off her warnings. "Ben is up to something and it somehow involves me staying away from the Island."

"You think he was watching you to keep you away?" She asked.

"What other reason could there possibly be?" He said, bringing his hands to his waist, holding there in a stance that only meant he was thinking about something. He looked over her shoulder, his eyes darting back and forth. "I keep going back to that conversation on the docks, before we left."

"What about it?" She asked.

Jack turned, his stiff brows shadowing his eyes from sunlight, but she could still see the resolve in them. "Ben was taunting Locke, like he'd gotten something over on him."

"Yeah, I'd say. He gave you a way off the Island, which was exactly what Locke didn't want. He caught him in the act of trying to stop you." Juliet pointed out, like it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

"No, it was more to it than that. They hate each other, that much is obvious, but it felt like," Jack trapped his bottom-lip between his teeth before he spoke again, "like something bigger was at stake."

"Do you think Locke knows what that is?" Juliet asked.

"I don't know." Jack said, frustrated with himself for having all these uncertain thoughts. "Locke was right about Ben. It makes me wonder what else he was right about." Their eyes locked tightly, and Juliet could see that this had turned from an already complicated rescue mission into something more, way more than Jack ever bargained for, but was somehow right in the middle of.

"You're not just going back for your friends. You're going back to figure out if you were really brought there for a reason." Juliet concluded. He neither confirmed nor denied her statement; he just stared at her blankly, waiting for her to read him the Riot Act again, but she didn't. She simply nodded her understanding.

"There's an explanation for why I feel so drawn to it. I know there is. I need to figure all of that out before I can move on." Jack explained.

"All the more reason for me to go with you, make sure you're taking care of yourself. You tend to neglect that when you're otherwise preoccupied." She commented.

"Juliet, it's too dangerous." He argued.

"You're gonna need help getting your people off that beach, Jack." She shot back.

"I can get it done by myself." He reasoned.

"I'm not asking for your permission." Her voice was thick with resolution on the subject. He knew that she wasn't going to back down, so there was no point in trying to persuade her to do so. He donned an amused smile, one she returned with ease.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jack asked.

"Sure."

"The other night, when you stopped by, a big chunk of it is missing for me. I woke up to a clean apartment and a note, saying that you were gonna keep your distance—" Jack began.

"About that, Jack. I'm really sorry that I couldn't stay and explain, but I felt like you needed your space and that I wasn't respecting that." Juliet explained rather hurriedly, but for some reason, Jack wasn't buying her excuse.

"Are you sure that's all it was?" He pushed. "Because I feel like something happened between us when I woke up the next morning, but I can't really remember what that was." Her cheeks began to burn in embarrassment as she diverted eye contact. Now he knew something happened, something he wouldn't easily let down, something he might have caused.

"Please tell me." Jack urged softly, not wanting to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already did.

Her beautiful blue eyes mingled with his, and three words rushed out with the tide of her untamed emotions.

"You kissed me."

* * *

><p>Richard had set out at first light, which was hours ago, leaving Tom in charge of the camp while he was gone. He led himself on the path to Jacob's quarters, this voice still ringing in the back of his head, urging him to stop and turn around. Something wasn't right about this. Something wasn't right about Ben asking him to do this, but he was never in a position to ask questions. He himself was just as curious about Jacob's lack of communication as Ben had been, and he would try to trust him, about all of it, about Jacob, Locke, and the Island itself.<p>

Stepping into a side of the jungle that was drowned in more sunlight than the shaded path he travelled, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

The Black Rock was this massive, unavoidable eyesore that sat in the very hub of the Island's ethereal beauty. Overgrown by the jungle and cracked with age and neglect, the trade ship still stuck out like a sore thumb. He hadn't seen it in decades, and the lump in his throat told him that this ship would always evoke emotions that he couldn't run far enough from. It was what brought him here in the first place, in chains and cuffs, a prisoner of a fate he lost the ability to decide for himself. He stepped up slowly, hesitantly to the ship's rudder and placed his palm over it, his hand shaking as it landed. The rotting wood felt coarse and hot against his skin. It has been so long for him here, this ship a constant in the sea of changes that he and the Island have gone through since it wrecked here.

Suddenly, he heard creaking nearby, footsteps. The noises grew closer and closer. Someone was within the belly of the ship, he realized. Curious, Richard slowly walked over to the cabin's entrance, the tall grass rustling as he moved through it. For a split second, he felt like he was in danger, like whatever was in there would pounce, but what he didn't expect was to see a man step out from the darkness into the sunlight, his bald, gritty appearance unmistakable.

Richard stood motionless, staring. "John?"

Locke saw him out of the corner of his eye before he spoke his name, but never looked his way or made him aware that he was alerted of his presence. He turned with a grin, angling his pack's strap more securely over his shoulder.

"Hello Richard." It was just as pleasant and non-assuming as Locke knew how to be, but Richard wasn't so easily swayed.

Richard stepped up to him, meeting him in the small clearing outside of the opening. He looked between the ship and Locke, his antennas going up instantly. "What are you doing out here?"

Locke looked at him through the squint of his eyes, the sun still unrelenting this time of day. "I was just passing through when I thought I should take a look inside, see if anything was salvageable."

"I think the only thing worth it is the dynamite, John." Richard retorted with obvious suspicion. "What are you trying to blow up_ this_ time?"

Locke grinned in reply, letting the distrustful dig, beaded with sarcasm, roll down his back. "What are you doing out here? Ben need you to fetch a pale of water?"

"I'm not out here for Ben." Richard lied, irritated by Locke's lack of compliance.

"What? You two break up?" Locke joked.

"We set you free weeks ago, and yet you're still out here in the jungle, all by yourself, just like you were that night on the dock." Richard pointed out. "What are you up to?"

Locke shrugged his shoulders, deciding that a little honesty would serve him well at this point. "I'm on a walkabout."

Richard didn't know whether or not to believe him. "A 'walkabout'? Never heard of it."

"It was the reason why I was on the plane in the first place. It's something I've always wanted to do, but never had the time for."Locke explained. Richard still had this confused look on his face, so he elaborated.

"A walkabout is a journey of spiritual renewal Richard, where one derives strength from the earth, and becomes inseparable from it."

"Why don't I believe that?" Richard asked.

"Why don't I believe that you're not on assignment for Ben?" Locke asked. Richard looked away with the shake of his head and the roll of his eyes. An annoyed, reserved, breathy laugh escaped him, but Locke wasn't buying the indignant response.

He stepped in closer, his eyes sparkling and his voice dipping into a dangerous register. "What does he need you to do, Richard?"

There was that eerie obligatory feeling again, the feeling that he could tell Locke this information, that it was okay to trust him, and most pressing of all, that he had to. The trance only lasted for a few seconds, when Richard was reminded of the decision he made a long time ago, that what he and Ben discussed in private would stay that way. Not to mention the decision he just made about a minute ago, to trust Ben in his decisions regarding the very man asking the question.

"What makes you think he needs me to do anything?" Richard asked, his poker face set deep within his chiseled features.

"I've been out here for weeks, and never once have I seen you. Granted there's a lot of ground that I still haven't covered, but we all know this Island gets smaller and smaller, can't go any one way without hitting the ocean." Locke said. "Not to mention, you're alone, just like you were the night I saw you approaching the compound, the night Jack left the Island."

The kink in Richard's stoic features told Locke that he'd hit a nerve. Locke sneered at the slip in composure. "What a coincidence."

"Is this your way of trying to rattle me, John?" Richard asked, annoyed and affronted.

"No, no. Of course not." Locke shook his head, satisfied. "This is me trying to enlighten you about your friend Ben. Despite his confidence that all his secrets are safe and locked away from prying eyes, some secrets just won't stay hidden."

Alarm rang in Richard's ears and bled through his eyes. What did Locke know? His entire body tensed and he felt like he couldn't breathe. "What are you talking about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Locke toyed with him, walking around him towards the treeline, until he felt Richard's hand wrapped around his upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. It was the most aggressive and pent-up Locke had ever seen him, which told him all he needed to know.

"Don't play games with me, John." Richard threatened through a shaky breath. "If you know what Ben is hiding, you need to tell me." Judging from the look in Locke's eyes, if he hadn't pulled his hand away when he did, he would have more to worry about than Benjamin Linus' duplicitous schemes.

"You know, the fact that you're so quick to believe that Ben is hiding anything or that I would know about it, means that you have some suspicions of your own. Am I right?" Locke pointed out, leaving Richard with no proper defense. He fell for the trap and now Locke knew that he didn't trust Ben as much as he wanted everyone to believe.

"_He's out to destroy everything that Jacob holds dear, John, and at the top of that list is the Island."_

Locke could hear it echoing through his memory. There was no trusting Ben, with the Island, with anything. He wanted to watch it burn, he wanted nothing more than that. That was the only thing that mattered, and the one thing Richard needed to know most of all, but showing his hand would only cause more havoc. It would get back to Ben somehow that he knew about Jacob, Jack, the Temple and the plot against the Island and he would rather keep that to himself than risk the Island any more than Ben already has. It was only a matter of time before it all came to a head and Locke wanted to be right there when it did.

Richard wasn't going to do this. It was a waste of time to go back and forth, it was beneath his purpose and his role. He was sick of being the referee between these two men, both of whom too stubborn and proud to compromise, too distrustful of the other to give him a chance. In spite of his own thoughts and suspicions, he would stick with Ben, he would stick with the Island until he had the evidence that convinced him otherwise. Locke would just have to give it up, but he knew that he never really would.

"There's nothing here for you, John." Richard retorted, backing off. He knew that wasn't true, that there was something out there for Locke, much more than he wanted to admit to him. It was too dangerous to explore that now. It was too much to deal with on top of Jacob's untimely absence and Ben's continued disapproval of Locke having anything to do with the Island. "I highly suggest that you come to grips with that and stay out of the way."

Richard turned his back, intent to pick up his trail, but Locke wouldn't let him.

"That wasn't an answer." He barked in anger.

Richard whipped around, his temper boiling. "Well, it's the only answer I've got, so you should take it while you still can."

Determined to get his point across, Richard stood toe-to-toe with Locke yet again. "Don't you get it? Ben is just waiting with bated breath to get you in his hooks again and you're out here wide open for the kill. He thinks that you are a major threat to this Island and guess what, John? I _defended _you. I told him that he was blinded by his hatred for you, but maybe he's right."

"You don't believe that." Locke said with a confidence that he had to pretend.

"Did you know that he has people posted in my camp, just waiting for you to show up?" Richard informed him.

"I suspected as much, but they're wasting their time." Locke defended himself. He knew the new policy Ben had enacted for his security, which was why he couldn't even step a toe onto the compound. There were too many guards now, their borders were too fortified for him not to get caught again. "I have no intention of invading your camp or anyone else's. I told you, I'm on a walkabout."

"You're lying." Richard was certain of it.

"No, _Ben_ is lying, and whatever he told you, whatever he's got you out here doing is a part of his master plan. I don't have any proof of what he's done or what he's going to do, but I know that he is up to something and so do you. You just don't want to believe it."

"John, let me ask you something. Why do you think Ben decided to let you go? It certainly wasn't to make his life easier. You're so adamant about believing that there's some diabolical scheme in play, when really, Ben showed you mercy and nothing more."

"Ben used me to play up some good-guy image, for you and his people and you know it." Locke argued.

"Oh is that right?" Richard snapped back.

"Yeah, that's right." Locke told him. "While you're in the mood to question me, let me ask _you_ a question. When Ben said that he would show me the Island, everything, did you for one second believe that he really would or was he trying to play me, again?"

Richard looked stumped, busted. He knew for a fact that Ben was using the offer as a ploy to control Locke, not to give him any insight into the Island. He didn't agree with it, but did nothing to stop it. Locke read the defeat in Richard's eyes, feasting on it as he stood corrected.

"So much for Ben and his mercy." He said, looking at Richard with an accusatory glare.

"You know what? Believe about Ben what you want, okay? Goodbye John." Richard began to walk away, beating the path he'd taken from the other side of the ship when he heard Locke speak up again, far louder than before.

"One day Richard, one day very soon, you're gonna wish you'd paid more attention, but by then," Richard turned to catch the look in Locke's eyes, "it'll be too late."

Locke could tell that the warning gave Richard something to think about as he hesitated to move, but slowly turned back to his path, pressing forward. Locke stood right where he was for a few seconds more, watching Richard move on, before stepping away himself, disappearing into the wide space, planting the seeds of doubt with relative ease.

A figure behind a crowd of shadowy vines revealed itself. The mysterious presence heard the entire conversation between Richard and Locke, and stood right at the juncture of their opposite paths, grappling with the decision of which to follow.

* * *

><p>"I did?" Jack asked, incredibly embarrassed and disgusted with himself for taking advantage of Juliet's kindness.<p>

"Yeah, you did," Juliet admitted, watching as Jack brought a hand over his face, rubbing his forehead. This was the moment she desperately wanted to avoid, watching him beat himself up over a simple kiss, but he wouldn't let her. He just had to know, he would always have to know.

"And I kissed you back," Juliet added, hoping to take some of the heat away from him and put it on herself, "but when you pulled away, I could tell that you were searching for a feeling that just wasn't there."

He could hear the hurt feelings in her voice, and could see the sadness in her eyes, sadness she tried to hide. "Juliet, I am so sorry."

"It's ok—" Juliet began, but Jack was too upset, shutting her down before she could make this easier for him.

"No, it's not. You were just trying to help me and I took advantage of you." Jack confessed, recovering broken pieces of that night and how lowly and alone he felt, reaching for the next able body to cling to. That was no way to treat someone who had been there for him through a very rough time.

"I'm pretty sure we took advantage of each other." Juliet laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

"Oh yeah?" Jack said, laughing lightly. "How so?"

"Come on. Like you didn't already know. I always wondered what it would be like to kiss you." The blushing of her cheeks grew deeper. "It was nice, you being drunk and all. Besides, we're better as friends. I know that now."

After a beat, Jack spoke up, hope in his heart that her answer was as kind as all the rest. "Does that mean you accept my apology?"

Juliet nodded and laughed, her hand falling comfortably over Jack's shoulder. "Yes. It does."

The moment was broken by the roar of the turbine engine of the jet, its propellers coming to life, whirling, the high-pitched whine drowning out all other sound. A man donning sound-suppressors over his ears approached both Jack and Juliet, yelling over the noise.

"Dr. Shephard, Dr. Burke, we're ready for takeoff!" He informed them before running back to the garage.

Jack turned to her, his voice loud. "You sure about this?"

"Absolutely." She yelled back.

The moment he'd been waiting for was just on the horizon as he and Juliet walked towards the stairs that led to the inside of the plane. She was the first to board, Jack following closely behind her, taking this moment in for all the pain it took and the leap of faith he had to take to trust Faraday and his mother, strangers, with something as important as this. He walked up the steps and before his foot stepped inside the plane's cabin, he heard his name from behind him.

"Jack!"

Jack turned, watching as Faraday ran to the plane from below. He met him at the end of the stairs. "You made it." He shouted.

"Barely." Dan bellowed in retort. "I was up all night thinking about what you said about the hatch, how it blew, which prompted me to look more closely at my research, what led me to the Island in the first place. Remember when I told you my readings of the electromagnetic radiation were off the charts _right_ before the Smoke Monster attacked?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Jack asked.

"Jack, I think the Smoke Monster is a life-form of it somehow, and it only grows more powerful, especially now that the Island's electromagnetic properties are highly erratic, as unstable as they've ever been, and I think this began with the hatch's implosion. If this continues, the consequences are disastrous for your friends, and ultimately, for the entire world."

Jack could feel his heart racing, profoundly troubled by what Faraday was telling him, but trying his best to follow the details. Faraday wouldn't tell him this unless there was something that could be done about it. "What do we do about it?"

Faraday handed him a moderately-sized remote-like object. It had the appearance of a sat-phone, but looked much more complicated than that. Before Jack could ask what the mysterious gadget was, he elaborated. "It's an Electromagnetic Pulse Device, ELMA for short. Jack, it's very important that you not let this device fall into the wrong hands."

Jack looked at it before turning back to Faraday. "I don't understand. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You need to detonate it by pressing this red button." Faraday pointed to the button he was referring to. He took a breath before he yelled the last part. "It'll disintegrate the Smoke Monster, and hopefully eradicate the instability. But you can only detonate it _once_, so be very careful with your timing, Jack. We've only got one shot at this."

There was so much that could go wrong with this plan, Jack thought, his mind racing, the throttle of the plane's engine steadily dampening their voices. "What if this doesn't work?"

"Trust me, it will." Faraday reassured him. "It has to."

Jack, once again, looked between Faraday and the device that weighed in his hand. "Any other possible global catastrophe you want to leave in my care?"

Faraday was thankful for the humor, because he panicked for them, for all of them. Yet he knew if there was any one person who could pull this off, it was Jack Shephard. "This'll do for now, but thanks for the offer."

A meaningful look passed between them, one of sorrow, but acknowledgement. This was it. Faraday extended his hand and it didn't take long for Jack to take it, shaking it with vibes of friendship and genuine gratitude.

"Good luck Jack."


	17. A Warning Sign

_**Graduate school is no joke, so chapters might be even more delayed, I hate to say, but you know how I am about trying very hard to update! Oh and I just noticed that a year ago, I posted the first chapter. Wow, time flies, and only 17 chapters written. I'm so slow, folks. I don't know how you deal with me. Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>"Feels like déjà vu." Juliet said from her seat across the aisle from Jack. They had been in the air for a little over an hour, blue skies with light traces of clouds filled the open windows.<p>

"What?" Jack asked with a light chuckle.

"You, me, travelling side by side." Jack smiled, nodding. "I gotta say though, the amenities of a private jet beat the Galaga's stiff bunk beds any day of the week." She wiggled into the plush seat just across from his.

He wouldn't tell her this, but he was much more comfortable in the air, as opposed to a tube that travelled underwater, and it wasn't all about the plush seating. There was something about being that deep underwater that made his stomach churn. He was on the verge of throwing up a few times, but consciously held himself together, barely. This was a much better way to travel.

"This is kind of our thing now, huh?" He joked.

"Mhmm." She hummed with a smile, watching as he returned it. She checked his handsome features, how difficult it was for him to take in the light moment, how his smile sagged a little on one side, which meant it was half-hearted, dragging with heavier emotions and thoughts. Must the man always be so introverted? Juliet wondered.

"You're worried." She commented. Was he that easy to read? He bowed his head and then looked up in front of him, his greatest fear realized and spoken.

"What if I'm too late?" With what Faraday had told him about the Smoke Monster and its growing power, he couldn't live with himself if something happened to any of his friends because he wasn't there to help them.

"You're not." She responded quickly, firmly. His care for his friends was one of the reasons she cared so much for him. He would do and give anything to make sure they were safe, and judging from how hard and how far he'd fallen to get to this moment, he'd given everything and then some. By her estimation, each and every man, woman and child on that beach were lucky to have such a caring man that would leap over mountains to protect them. It was a rarity in today's age to meet someone with his bravery and capacity for selflessness, and whether or not he liked the label, it made him a hero.

"They're not dead. They're alive and they're waiting for you. I'm sure Kate told them all what you told her, and the fact that she believes in you, means they will too."

He nodded in return, slightly sure that she was right, and that they were all fine, if only they would all stay that way until he could get to them.

Hours later, the lightening storm outside of the window was enough to keep Jack completely awake during the flight, which was still going well for all intents and purposes. Faraday wasn't lying when he said that Frank was the best pilot for the job. The storm had hit so fast, so suddenly, but he was calm and completely in control of the situation. He was what any good pilot should be, especially with the unpredictable conditions they were flying in.

He turned over to Juliet, who had fallen asleep some time ago. He remembered that little tidbit about her when they were just getting to know each other. She couldn't last long on an international flight before she was out like a light. She looked peaceful, even though storms rumbled loudly outside of her window.

Jack tapped his fingers against the edge of his armrests, bored with just sitting there, but thoughts keeping him preoccupied. An Electromagnetic Pulse Device sat in the front pocket of his pack. What a mouthful. What was the short form for it again? ELMA? That sounded about right, Jack thought. He rubbed his forehead as what Faraday told him came rushing back. If he didn't disintegrate this flux due to the hatch's implosion, then not only will his friends be in grave danger, so will the entire world. If he wasn't under enough pressure as it was, now he was responsible for the welfare of everyone on the planet. Things just kept getting better and better.

Saving his friends. Finding his destiny. Preventing world annihilation. Just another day in the life of Jack Shephard.

Breaking into a sweat with his constant worrying, Jack began to shrug himself out of his jacket. In the process of peeling it away, he noticed something poking out of the breast pocket, something he didn't remembered putting there. Reaching in, he sucked in a startled breath at the sight of his name written on the familiar envelope that managed to stay sealed for days now, even in the midst of his curiosity.

Christian's letter.

His eyes popped with panic, full-on amazement as a breath stalled in his throat.

"What the hell?" His voice was edgy and nothing short of stunned. Jack suddenly found the air too thick to breathe. He remembered leaving this letter in his apartment, placing it in the drawer of his nightstand for safe keeping. What the hell was it doing in his jacket pocket? Then he thought about the Island, about all the mysterious things that have happened to him since leaving, and particularly how Eloise Hawking knew about this letter and how she knew about his father to begin with.

As he recalled, Faraday never elaborated on who this mysterious friend was that Eloise owed a favor. Could it have been Christian? Could he have made assurances with Eloise that no matter what happened, his son was supposed to get this letter? But it boggled him how this letter came on the arrival of help getting back to the Island, and how Eloise knew with certainty that it was his destiny to do so. Were they interconnected somehow? Did his father know something he didn't?

Rhetorical question, as always. His father took more than his fair share of secrets to his grave, but somehow, he felt like the old man left one behind, just for him to know.

On impulse, Jack ripped the envelope open, and unfolded the single sheet of stationary, his eyes devouring.

_Jack, _

_I know that I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I had to write this. I had to make you understand. I'm sitting here, in a bar, trying to come up with one reason why you should let me back into your life, why you should give me another chance at fatherhood and I can't come up with one. Pretty sad right? Which is why I thought I belonged here, half way across the world, where no one would ever think to look or care to come. _

_You must think that I'm angry at you, that I'm disappointed in you, that I feel betrayed by you, and worst of all, that I hate you, but you couldn't be more wrong. I am so very proud of the man you've become and it's my own fault for not telling you, for not showing you and that, more than anything else, is my biggest regret. Of all the achievements and accolades, I've done nothing greater than be the person you call Dad. _

Jack looked up from the letter, his emotions caught in his throat as he struggled to breathe. He couldn't read anymore of this, the urge to breakdown ripped through him. His breaths came out heavy, labored, and panicked. These were the last words his father ever wrote, ever felt the need to convey to another human being and he was sick with the fact that days, maybe even hours after he wrote this, he was found dead in that alley, alone and filled with his regrets. His eyes couldn't stop themselves from soaking in the rest of the cursive penmanship.

_You freed me son. You saved me, and that, after what I've done to you, is truly a miracle that I don't deserve, but am eternally grateful for. You have it Jack, you've always had it, from the second you were brought into this world and now, especially now, it's time for you to believe it as much as I always have._

_I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me and yourself._

_I love you._

_CS_

He felt the tears fall from his eyes, and just like that, he could breathe again. Everything he ever wanted to hear from his father was right here in his hands, an absolute blessing, and besides the watch that he left in Kate's care, the only thing he had left from his father of any true value or importance to him. He folded the piece of paper and was about to place it back into the envelope when he heard the rumbling outside the plane, dangerously close, the sky growling as the rainfall intensified.

The cabin began to shake, slightly at first, and then violently, seizing as it veered through the worst leg of the storm. Jack found it hard to stay grounded in his seat as he gripped the armrests with iron fists, struggling to stay put. Juliet was awake now, looking at him with fear-ridden, confused eyes that were still a bit subdued from sleep. He looked back at her just the same, his eyes questioning. He wondered what their chances were of getting to the Island safely or if they would have to consider an emergency landing until the storm passed.

"Frank?" Jack called out, trying not to stand and hurt himself if the turbulence hit again, which it had, knocking the plane around like a tin can in a wind storm. No one answered, eerie silence persisted.

He made the trek to the cockpit carefully, when the worst of the turbulence smacked straight through the plane, knocking Jack down to the floor. He crawled to the cockpit's door and grappled with the handle that wouldn't budge. He finally came through the door to discover an unconscious Frank, on the floor, bleeding at his temple, the blood dripping down his face.

"Frank!" Jack bent down next to him. He checked his pulse. It was dim, but there. Before he could react to anything else, Juliet was behind him, stepping into the cockpit and taking in the havoc.

"Oh my God." Juliet breathed.

"The turbulence must have knocked him out." Jack explained, forcing Frank's eyelids open and noticing not one shred of a reaction from his pupils, which were rolled into the back of his head. He smacked at his cheeks as he spoke. "Frank? Can you hear me?"

Juliet took a look ahead, out of the wide window and into the perilous sky, dark with storms. All she saw were grey clouds with small bursts of brightness from pitches of lightening that struck all around them. A crashing blow left her with nothing but worry. With Frank knocked out, who would fly the plane? Who would fly them out of this?

Jack turned to take in the same devastating look outside the window. They were miles and miles off course. He didn't know how he knew that for sure, but he did. There was no telling how long Frank had been unconscious. Jack knew he had to do something and fast.

"Here, keep his head level, try to wake him up." Juliet kneeled down next to him after Jack's instructions and took Frank's head in her hands, curious about what Jack would be doing in the meantime.

Jack reached the pilot's chair, stumbling through another tremor that ripped through the plane. He eventually got there and took another look out of the window, hesitating for the slightest second.

"What—what are you doing?" Juliet asked.

Not answering, Jack sat down behind the main controls and began to take the reins, pulling the steer back, into him. Every possible light on the dashboard panel was blinking, flaring out at him, an alarm began to resound through the tiny cockpit, adding to Jack's stress and Juliet's panic.

"You know how to fly a plane?" Juliet yelled over the alarm and her shoulder.

"I took a couple of flying lessons." Jack admitted while he tried to gain control, some of the lights fading out. "It wasn't for me."

"Then, wha—?" Juliet started, panicking.

"Just focus on Frank, okay? Let me handle the plane!" Jack screamed in interruption over the alarm.

Juliet patted Frank's cheeks, literally shaking him. "Frank? Frank? You gotta wake up!"

Frank stammered as he came back to consciousness with Juliet hovering over him, breaking into a smile at the sight of his eyes opening.

"Frank, thank God—"

Before she could express her thought, a blinding, powerful burst of violet light drowned them into oblivion, the intensity of the flash knocking her down and into him, whom she covered as a human shield. The flare quickly faded out, leaving them with the murky darkness of the storm. After she caught her bearings again, she looked down at Frank, who was okay, still struggling to gain consciousness, but alive nonetheless. She checked herself. She was okay too, nothing was broken, and she wasn't bleeding.

"Jack, are you—?" She looked over at the pilot's station and noticed something that her eyes couldn't believe.

Jack was gone.

Vanished.

"Jack?" Juliet screamed in petrified horror.

"What the hell was that?" Frank screeched in pain, his head throbbing and that Supernova-esque tidal wave of purple light didn't help to soothe him.

Juliet didn't know what just happened and found it hard to concentrate on anything else. Jack was gone. Literally no more. Tears came to her startled eyes. What was that flash? What did it mean for Jack? Was he dead now? Did he cease to exist? She couldn't think over all the questions budding to the surface, but the plane was still unmanned, probably mere feet from crashing into a mountain or the ocean.

She needed Frank to move it. That was what she needed. Everything else would have to wait.

"You need to get up and land this plane!" Juliet urged. Frank was slow on the uptake, struggling to comprehend what just happened, and what Juliet was demanding of him, still unsteady and weak. "Now!"

She helped him to his feet and back into the pilot's chair. He took the unsettled, shaking steer in his grasp and pulled as hard as he could backwards, leveling the plane in the air with everything he had to give, yelling at the pain it caused him, the strength it took to man the plane alone at this point. There were so many lights blinking at him, he didn't know what to take care of first. He punched at buttons on both the dashboard and overhead panels, some of the lights blinking away, but the alarm continued to beep. They were still hilt deep in the woods of danger, with little room to get out.

In the distance, Frank saw level ground, grass, and they were headed right for it. He thought his mind was playing tricks, but he saw something else that made him thank his lucky stars.

"What the—?" He whispered, befuddled. "Is that a—a runway?" He asked this louder, catching Juliet's attention. She looked ahead and saw the long sandy road amid fields and fields of grass that couldn't be anything else.

"Hold fast to somethin' sturdy!" Frank screamed, determination set in his grimace. "This ain't gonna be pretty!"

Juliet took hold of the co-pilot's chair, hugging it to her with all the strength she had left to give. She could feel every bump in the landing, every maneuver Frank made to make sure it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Then the jostle of the cockpit was the signal that the plane was on the ground now, the screech of the wheels as they bumped along the asphalt was her final cue, but they were still going too fast, warp speed, which couldn't have spelled good things.

"Brake damnit!" Frank bellowed, pulling at the lever right next to him in the median. He activated the emergency brake system and the plane soon began to slow down, the engine cutting out and the plane eventually coming to a slow, strenuous stop. Frank released a long sigh, closing his eyes, still woozy from the knock to his head. He'd had better landings, but that one, if his memory recalled, was the absolute worst, but they were safe. That was all that mattered.

Juliet kept her eyes closed even though she knew they were in the clear. Tears still stung them. She prayed for Jack, for his safety. She prayed that she could find him, wherever he was.

"Where the hell are we?" Frank asked, taking in the view past the cockpit's wide window.

Juliet finally opened her eyes as she let go of the chair that anchored her, taking in the same picturesque view of grass and mountainside. She knew this place. They were on Hydra Island and this was the runway that they were once building, but had long since neglected. For what they were building it for she never knew, but with how it came in handy just now, she didn't even care.

"We're on the Island." Juliet said, breathing heavily. She turned to Frank.

"But where's Jack?"

* * *

><p>It was high morning; Kate was still in bed inside of the cabin. She tossed, changing positions every few minutes. She was more uncomfortable in this bed than she ever was in the sandlot she called a bed back in her tent on the beach, she mused while trying to find a comfortable spot. She simply couldn't rest now, her body somehow refusing her cause to go back to sleep.<p>

Wide awake, she groaned, giving up the fight she'd been battling. She stayed reclined in the bed, looking up at the ceiling with sleepy eyes. Nothing had happened since she came back here. No whispers, nothing. She was positively bored with the uneventfulness of her days, but she'd done what she'd never been able to do in her life, stay in one place for longer than a day. Jack never thought it possible, she thought with a laugh. She pulled herself up and looked around her. Jack's watch sat nearby, still bright, its silver banding twinkled. A small, sad smile lit her face. He was in everything, in the things mostly associated with him and in everything else.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to do next. Find that lagoon a few yards out and wash up, maybe. She was in desperate need of a shampoo, her curls feeling more grungy than silky. She could go picking for fruit, since she was running low on the food that she took from the beach. She remembered trekking past a grove that she hadn't had the time or the attention span to explore at the time. She could do a number of things, but felt the need to just sit still for a second.

Like she had been struck by a clap of lightning, she jerked, her body seizing slightly, for mere seconds, but its effect reached her core, shaking her. Her face contorted in worry, panic. Something was wrong. Something was different. It was like the cabin was now on fire with an aura that built around her like four brick walls, ensnarling her. She rose to her knees in the bed with captivated wanting, the creaking of the frame was the only sound, every muscle in her body tensed, her breath stalled. She waited for the voice, that slow, soft whisper to greet her from out of nowhere like it had before, so that she could finally say something back, to communicate.

This time, it wasn't a voice, but a sensation that only one person could encourage inside of her, completely discriminate from all the others. She swelled with it, inflamed by it. Tears pooled her eyes.

It lifted her, took her breath away. She didn't know how this was happening, but blessings tended to work that way.

Instinctively, she knew, but she had to make sure.

She spoke, her voice crackling with emotions that she would never let out of her sight again.

"_Jack_?"

* * *

><p>Jack's eyes opened slowly to reveal hazel orbs glazed over with unconscious blankness. He blinked slowly, then frantically, trying his best to focus his blurred vision and saw nothing but faint, blue sky. The sun was high, perched squarely at the center, beaming down with the heat of a thousand more just like it. His head was spinning and his body felt extremely weak. He felt himself sinking into the millions of grains of sand. He soon realized that he was lying on a beach, the tranquil rush of the waves met the shore a few yards from his feet.<p>

Drained of any energy, he couldn't move, his chest rising and falling in rushed, panicked breaths. How did he get here? What happened to the plane? Where were Frank and Juliet? Was he on the Island? If not, where? That was when he felt it, the pain of an injury that he couldn't yet see, but knew was there, searing through his veins like battery acid. He felt around blindly, so tired he could barely hold his head up to get a visual. He felt dampness on the lower right side of his torso and brought his fingertips up to his face to inspect. Blood, and lots of it. Cherry red, viscous. This was bad, really bad.

His body's adrenaline wore down and the blood rushing from a deep laceration that stung like hell, was all he could feel, think about, pulsating through his nerves with fire and brimstone. Groaning, he grasped at it weakly, finding there was no immediate remedy, no easy fix. He could die right here on this beach from an infection, from bleeding out. What a way to go. The irony of it would have made him laugh until he kneeled over if his sense of humor wasn't clouded by the imminence of death.

His breathing still shallow and hoarse, he turned his head, his eyes growing wide with what filled them. What came into view was daunting and unbelievable, impossible. A statue of gargantuan proportions, of what he could only discern as a man of some kind, ancient and pagan in nature. It towered over him, a gigantic beacon that reached the sky without effort and could probably be seen from miles away. The distant caw of seagulls filled the air as they flew from the top of this sculpture his blurry vision still couldn't take in the details for.

Fear like nothing he ever felt before robbed him of concentration on those details, so he decided to count.

_One. Two. Three_…

Before he could get to four, consciousness phased out, leaving him passed out where he lay.


	18. Author's Note

Hello readers!

I wanted to post an Author's Note, deeply apologizing for the huge break I've taken from this story. Not a day goes by that I don't think about this story, all the great plans I have for it, and last, but certainly not least, you all, my readers, for sticking by me. I have been receiving anonymous reviews begging me to come back, and I want those anonymous readers to know that I received every single one, and thank you.

With my entrance into a Graduate Anatomy program this past Fall, there have been A LOT of strains on my time, which hinders time available for my favorite hobby, writing. Suffice to say, there hasn't been a lot of downtime between studying for me, but with my first semester coming to a close in two weeks, I will have time to update! I have been writing Chapter 18, and I have to say, I'm very proud of it. I know that I left a huge cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter (sorry!), but it leads right into the dramatic arc of the story. We will finally see where Jack ended up and what his return to the Island will mean for him. We'll also stop in on Kate, Locke, Juliet and Frank, not to mention our group on the beach, who have no idea what's been going on. Things are REALLY PICKING UP! I can't wait to share it all with you!

Lastly, everything about this story has been planned out since before I posted the first chapter over a year ago (wow!), so know that while I don't update as much as I should and want to (hopefully that will change), I've always, **always** anticipated finishing this story, and I will, even if you've lost interest as a reader (I don't blame you if you have). It's the best I've ever written and my greatest attempt to honor the show and the characters I love so much, so, I don't have any plans to disappoint you guys, least of all myself.

Look out for an update in the coming weeks!

Much love to you all,

Erica


	19. The House That Jacob Built

_**Jack opens his eyes a LOT in this story, I just realized. I guess I'm subconsciously drawing that from the show, and the dramatic theme of Jack's enlightenment symbolized through the eye. A little guide to help you understand what's going on in this chapter, re-reading sections of Chapters 8, 10, 13 and 14 will be most helpful! Enjoy and HAPPY NEW YEAR!**_

* * *

><p>Jack's eyes flickered open, his subdued awareness reaching. It was dark, quiet, and erringly calm. There was nothing but the gargled labor of his own breathing. He was weathered, but alive. For some reason unbeknownst to him in that moment, he knew that he was lucky to <em>be<em> alive. He sat up slowly, testing his body against its limits and he found that he had very little vigor to work with. All the energy and strength he'd once had was wiped clean, like he'd given it all away to something bigger than himself, something that had bested him. What the hell was going on? What was happening to him? Where was he?

Once upright, he watched as what he only knew to be firelight from nearby play lightly with the shadows on the crumbled wall at his feet. He struggled to stand, but once he had, he took his time walking towards this light, a narrow walkway guiding his movements. He stopped for a second, taking in a breath before he continued on. The bumps in the stone wall scratched against his palm, and it was a relieved pain, a welcomed sensation, because everything else felt numb, empty.

A few more steps led him into a wide, echoing room, lit by torches and a central fire that created its core. Four columns held the room upright. He leaned into the frame of its entrance, taking hold of the crumbling walls again, still woozy and quite tired, but the discovery of where he was would somehow lead him to where he'd been and how he'd gotten here, it had to and that was what kept him pressing onward. Sweaty and trembling, Jack moved down the three steps ahead of him and took in the expanse of the room. The entire atmosphere felt odd, eerily vacant. A small pool of water swam in the outer ring of the pit where the fire crackled and burned in the center of the room, clear and still in its glorified blaze.

On the nearby wall hung an embroidered mural of some kind, its unfinished end trailing the dusty floor beneath it. Jack stepped over to it, taking in the artistry of the piece. He never saw anything like it. The detail was so minute, so intricate that he marveled at the handiwork. The Greek lettering at the top was something he wouldn't dare try to decipher. His hand reached out to touch it, but before his fingertips could land upon it, he heard someone speak from behind him.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Jack turned and stared wordlessly, surprise caught up with a bit of fear, shone in his face. The shadow of a man sitting in a wooden chair in the darkest corner became apparent. As the flames flickered, they shifted the luminance within the room, revealing the deep blue of his eyes and the sharp form of his features.

"At least it will be once I'm done with it." An awkward silence persisted, leaving Jack's strangled breathing the only noise within the echoing space. The man shifted in his seat, still obscure within the shadows, hidden, cloaked. "You're finally awake. I have to say, you're a lot heavier than you look."

"What?" Was all Jack could manage, not sure what this mysterious man was talking about.

"I found you on the beach. You were unconscious, looked like you'd been there for awhile, so I carried you in here, waited for you to wake up."

Jack continued to stare, still speechless and confused. "Who are you?"

"You should sit, you must be hungry." The man ignored the command in Jack's tone, standing to move towards him. Firelight encased his entire form, leaving Jack to wonder how long he'd been here. He was relatively younger than his voice led on. He didn't look a day over forty, but for some reason, Jack felt like he was much older than that. It showed in his eyes, which were boring holes straight through him under a tired squint. He wore a simple, grimy white collared shirt and dusty dark pants, his bare feet shuffled against the floor as he walked over, the fire caught between the two of them.

"I caught breakfast at first light, there's plenty if you—"

"I'm not hungry and I don't want to sit down. I need you to tell me who the hell you are and where you've taken me." Jack said with as much bite as he could muster in his state. He could feel his temper rising as suspicion for this man burned through him. Why had he been found on the beach? Why couldn't he remember anything substantial past the last minute or so?

"I haven't taken you anywhere you don't want to be, Jack." The man said as he folded his hands together in front of him.

Jack held his breath, his eyes blinking as sweat continued to bead across his forehead, the warmth of the fire making him hot. "How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things; that tends to happen when you've been around as long as I have." The man stated. "I think a more interesting question is how it's possible that you disappeared from a plane in mid-flight."

"What?" Jack stammered, the word coming out broken, his heavy breathing taking a turn for the worse. The pallor of his skin turned ghostly pale and he felt like he was going to topple over. He bent to support himself; his hands covering the bend of his knees. His eyes darted back and forth within the bright waves of the fire, dense with bafflement; the urge to vomit sickened him. He disappeared from a plane? How was that possible?

Broken memories began to resurface. There was a high, perfect sky. He remembered hot sand roasting his back, waves at his feet, the scorching bake of sunlight as he found it near impossible to move. His father's letter was the last thing he remembered of the plane, before the image of Frank on the floor of the cockpit, unconscious, reemerged. The terror on Juliet's face at the realization that they were crashing and the wide sky in front of him as he tried to get them out of there came rushing back to him, as vividly as if it were happening right in front of him in that moment. Jack soon realized that if he was here, where were his friends?

"Juliet and Frank—" He looked up at the man who stood before him, trying the best he could to catch his breath.

"They're fine." The stranger assured him, his blue eyes both calming and dreadful.

Jack closed his eyes, heaving a sigh of relief. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself if Juliet and Frank were dead because of him, because of what he had to do. They were out there somewhere, alive. He couldn't remember the transition between the plane and the beach and somehow he knew that this man knew more than he was saying about what happened, about how it was possible for all of this to be happening to him, how he knew his name, and how he knew that his friends were okay. He knew more, he had to. Another memory resurfaced, and it made him distrust him more than he already had.

"But I wasn't." Jack stated with accusatory spite, straightening from his slouched position, his entire body taunt with aggression. He watched as the man's face stood stoic and unaffected.

"I was hurt, badly. I was dying, that much I know for sure and the next thing I remember is I'm waking up here and not one scratch, like it hadn't happened at all." The puzzling stranger kept his composure, but he knew what Jack was implying, what he was accusing him of. He had been found out and it was too late to turn back.

"For the last time, who the hell are you and what did you do to me?" Jack asked, his tone leaving no choice but to confess.

"My name is Jacob," he finally delcared, his eyes growing solemn, "and I healed you."

Jack took a step back, not prepared for that answer, not prepared for much of anything. "How? Why?"

"The 'How' is a very long story, but the 'Why' is a little simpler. Because you're _very_ important to me, Jack, and I worked very hard to get you back here."

"Back? Back whe—?" Jack cut himself short, closing his eyes before he bowed his head, nodding. "The Island."

Jacob nodded. "Yes."

Jack swiped a hand over his forehead, visibly taken aback, tears building in his eyes. While he wanted to rejoice, there was still so much he couldn't be sure of, there were still questions he needed answers to, mysteries that needed solving. His memory was all broken, fragmented, bits and pieces scattered, trying to fit, and he still felt like he could collapse at any moment. Nothing felt right, nothing felt real.

"What is happening to me?" He asked, his hand still holding his forehead. He could feel a headache coming as question after question came to mind. "Why am I important to you? I don't even know you. I know nothing about what you want from me."

"But Benjamin Linus does." Jacob said, his tone monotonous and low, but rumbling.

The change in Jack's features and in his body language told Jacob everything he needed to know. "You." He whispered, stepping closer. "Ben was trying to keep me away from the Island, because of you." Jacob confirmed it with a nod. "Why would he do that?"

"Because I chose you." Jacob confessed simply.

"For what?"

"For a very important job that I've been doing for a _very_ long time, that I didn't choose for myself, but was asked of me by someone I thought I could trust, someone I wanted to make proud." Jacob explained.

"And what job is that?" Jack asked.

"Protecting the Island."

* * *

><p>"Come on you piece of crap!" Frank screeched, banging the transceiver against his palm, then holding it back up to the perfect blue sky above. Static continued to blare through the speaker, much to his dismay.<p>

It had been two hours since the rough landing, and with every second that ticked by, Frank grew more and more irritated. He outwardly cursed himself for ever agreeing to come back, quite a comical scene to behold for an onlooker. Juliet sat atop a few large rocks near the plane, her back to her frustrated pilot, staring in the direction of the tall mountains, her face blank of emotion, but the blues of her eyes swam. On the other side of those hills was where she worked each and every day for three years, where she thought she was changing lives, saving lives, but it was all a lie. Ben's lie, to get her to do whatever she wanted him to do. She resented herself for having been caught in his trap for so long, desperate for freedom. This place, once here, had a hold that wouldn't easily shake, and even in that moment, she could feel its grab.

Luckily, Ben and the rest of his team had abandoned Hydra Island long ago, very soon after his surgery. There was no one who could have witnessed the crash as far as she knew, not unless Ben instructed security detail to stay behind to patrol the place, but she doubted that. With the barracks having been so easy to invade by Kate, Sayid and Locke, she was certain that he was more concerned with securing it than anything else. So, for the moment, they were safe, but she wasn't sure they would stay that way.

She thought about Jack, about what happened to him. She didn't want to believe the worst; she couldn't bring herself to the thought. He was doing something so noble and selfless by coming back here, so courageous to face what was happening to him head on, but she was so scared for him, especially now that she wasn't with him, that she couldn't help him. She had never seen such bravery in all her life and her heart broke for the fact that wherever he was, dead or alive, he was most likely alone. She thought back to that night in his apartment, the guilt he felt over leaving his friends behind, how ashamed he was that he couldn't find the Island and how much of a disappointment he thought himself to be because of it.

Tired of sitting there sulking in her negative thoughts, Juliet returned to the belly of the plane. She grabbed Jack's bag from the floor and unapologetically rummaged through it until she found the device that Faraday had given him before they took off back in L.A. She hadn't told Jack that she saw the device exchange hands and that she heard the near-end of the conversation, Faraday's words loud and clear.

'_But you can only detonate it__once__, so be very careful with your timing, Jack. We've only got one shot at this._'

One shot at what? She thought to herself. Worry struck her, because Jack was the only one who knew what was going on, and what needed to happen next. She didn't know what she should do with the device or the information pertaining to it. Should she detonate it herself? But how? Should she wait for Jack? She had no idea where he was or how to find him, but she wouldn't let his sacrifice be for nothing. Should she just forget what she heard? She couldn't possibly do that. While she didn't know the specifics, if Faraday had rushed to get to Jack before take-off just to give him this device and to tell him that they only had one shot at something, it had to have been a matter of life and death.

After another minute or so of contemplation, she decided that there was only one thing to do.

Frank continued to try his best to secure a signal that could help him send a distress call. "You might as well stop trying. It's not gonna work." Juliet said as she approached him, getting his attention.

He turned, annoyed. "Oh yeah? How in the hell would you know that?"

"Because I used to work here, and live here." She confessed. "And I know for a fact that all communication off this Island is being blocked."

"By who?" He asked.

"My old boss." She explained.

"Well, that's just great." Frank sighed, looking glumly at the transceiver in his hand. When he was here before, with Dan and his merry band of scientists, the plane had landed smoothly, so there was no need to send a distress call, so he had no idea there was no way to communicate with the outside world, yet another wonderful reason why he shouldn't have agreed to this suicide mission.

Frank looked up at Juliet, his burly brows protecting his eyes from sunlight. "Is your old boss responsible for Jack disappearing from the cockpit out of thin air too?" He still couldn't believe what Juliet had told him once they were in the clear. Jack disappeared within a flash of bright purple light? What the hell was this Island and why would anyone in their right mind voluntarily come back? He thought.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out." She readjusted her ponytail, pulling it tighter while walking back around the plane. Frank, curious as to what she meant and what she was doing, followed behind her. She kneeled to zip her pack and tie the loose laces of her boots.

"First, I need to get to the beach." Juliet said out loud, mapping out a plan of action in her head as she did so.

"I don't think now's a good time for a tan and a swim. We're kind of in the middle of a crisis here." Frank bristled.

"Jack's people," Juliet clarified as she tightened the laces on her right foot, "they're living on a beach, on another island entirely. If I want to reach them by tomorrow before sunset, I need to move now." She knew that she needed a canoe, and she knew exactly where to find one. Paddling it by herself over miles of water wouldn't be very fun, but she could manage. She just had to get to the other island before nightfall.

"They don't know what happened to Jack and I need to tell them." While she had never encountered Jack's group, she hoped that they would listen to her. With her luck, that surly Southerner who had given her such a hard time before would definitely keep tradition. She couldn't think about that. Jack was her friend and she owed it to him to tell his friends what happened, whether they believed it or not.

"Hey, wait a minute. What about me? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Frank asked.

Juliet straightened, tying the sleeves of her jacket around her waist. "You're gonna have to guard the plane, so that once we find Jack and get everyone to _this_ island, we can get the hell out of here."

"Guard it with what? My shoelaces?" He asked sarcastically.

She pulled a handgun from behind her and handed it to him, handle-side up. "Here, take this."

He took the gun from her, looking at her with wild, surprised eyes. She was only handing it to him, but the way she'd done it, so deftly, told him that she knew her way around weapons of the firearm variety. She was pretty, but she wasn't a priss, he realized.

"You always packin' heat like this?" He asked, admiring the piece.

She laughed, and it was genuine, her smile beaming. "I'm like a Girl Scout, Frank. I'm always prepared, and I knew exactly what I was coming back to. You never know when you need to shoot first and ask questions later." She watched as the surprise in his eyes grew wider.

"I get the feeling you speak from experience." He laughed nervously, making a mental note to stay on this woman's good side. He checked the clip, a full round, but he figured he might need back-up as he pushed it back into the cylinder. "You got an extra round of bullets?"

She dug into her pack and threw him a box. "Don't spend 'em all in one place, huh?" She joked before turning off.

He smiled, finding that he liked her very much. "I'll try my best."

While he was playing it cool, she could see the panic in his eyes. He was here because he was doing a friend a favor, and she had a feeling that he was the kind of guy who would always be there for his friends, no matter how crazy that favor was. She stopped short, her compassion calling out to her, and turned to him.

"Frank," Juliet called, "I know that the situation looks pretty grim right now, but I'm gonna find Jack and get us all out of here."

"I promise."

* * *

><p>Jack stumbled back a bit, the wind having been blown out of him. Protect the Island? That was what he was supposed to do? How? Why? What in the hell did that entail? Minutes persisted before either of them spoke again, Jacob giving him time to digest the information. He paced back and forth, slowly, his brow knitted in thought, and his fingers folding his hair in every direction as they combed through. Jacob expected him to erupt at any moment, but once Jack stopped pacing a hole into the floor, he only had one thing to say, one question to ask.<p>

"So, Ben knew this, the entire time?"

"Yes." Jacob admitted.

"How?"

"He worked for me," Jacob began, "I trusted him to perform certain tasks, but he stopped quite awhile ago, deliberately. He betrayed me, willingly and openly by letting you leave the Island. He wanted me to know that he could take whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, and he _wanted _you to leave of your own volition, which wasn't a very hard feat considering the fact that you've been trying to do just that ever since your plane crashed."

Jack began to pace again, but Jacob thought it best to continue to talk, before he wasn't allowed the opportunity. "He studied you, Jack. He found out what you cared about the most in this world and ripped it away from you, so that leaving it all behind would feel like you were free, like you were regaining control of the situation."

Jack didn't need to be reminded of why he left, of what he lost and why he felt like distance, if only for a little while, would be best for everyone involved. Ben hadn't used Kate against him for just the surgery, he began to realize. His plans went far beyond saving his own life, and he mentally kicked himself for playing right into his hands. While he had been manipulated and deceived, he was right about the tension between Ben and Locke on the docks that night. There was something weird about it, something was off, and he couldn't truly see it until it was too late to do anything about it.

Jack combed a hand through his hair again, disheveling it, mumbling to himself, but loud enough for Jacob to hear, "This is crazy."

"Is it really that crazy, Jack?" Jacob challenged him. "It is so unbelievable that every moment of your life has been leading up to this? That I brought your plane to this Island for a reason?"

Jacob's word choice struck a nerve with him, one that left him reeling. "Locke knew, he…" He couldn't get it out, the truth of it crushing him. It wasn't John's imagination or his desire to feel like his life had purpose and meaning, not entirely at least, it was real; it was standing right across from him, blue-eyed with short blonde hair that glimmered in the firelight.

"He was right about all of it, about Ben, about this, and I didn't believe him. I didn't…"

"John Locke only knows what I _allow _him to know, which isn't very much." Jacob said. "I need him just as much as I need you, just in a different way."

Jack once thought Locke dead, after having left him with Ben and his men, but judging from Jacob's tone, he was still very much alive. He was relieved, and he never thought he'd ever feel that way about John, but he did, so much so that he needed to see him for himself, to validate his existence.

"Why didn't you choose him to be your successor? Why me?"

Jacob paused, considering his answer very carefully before he spoke. "John is…impulsive. He leaps first; he's too quick to trust and susceptible to anyone who makes him feel special or wanted, but he _is_ special. He allows his faith, his intuition to guide him in remarkable ways. He doesn't have to see it to believe it, and that gets him into a lot of trouble, but for him, it's worth it."

"But you, Jack, you're careful, you calculate every move, because you can't stand to be out of control. You're a leader, you were born with this ability to…motivate people, to inspire the best and most truthful part of them. They trust you, they depend on you, even though you don't believe they should. You're a cynic, for you there's no such thing as miracles, nothing is a wonder, it just is what it is. You don't want to be special, you just want to do the right thing, period. That's just who you are."

"I guess Ben wasn't the only one studying me." Jack noted, watching Jacob smirk lightly.

"Don't you see, Jack? You and John, you're the opposite sides of the same coin. What you won't risk, he will, what you can't bring yourself to believe, he does. You need each other more than either of you could have ever imagined."

"What about everyone else that was on that plane?" Jack asked, his anger building. "People died in that crash, lives were turned upside-down, ruined. What about them?"

"Sadly, they were sacrifices the Island demanded. They're free to leave if they wish." Jacob said, void of emotion or any feeling that Jack could detect. He could tell that he cared a great deal about his fellow survivors and couldn't fathom what he'd done to them so unceremoniously, but he had no choice. There was no other way.

Jack shook his head, completely revolted by Jacob's disregard for all the damage he caused, in the name of what he needed, what he wanted. Was this what _he_ wanted? Could he be someone who felt so detached from the catastrophe he created in the name of the Island? Could he spend centuries with the guilt of that? If he decided to do this, would he lose all sense of compassion, of emotion altogether? There had to be something redeeming about this man, something that he could connect with, so he went in search of it.

"Who?" Jack asked.

"Who what?" Jacob retorted.

Jack stepped back near the fire, wanting to see his face when he asked the question. "Who were you trying to make proud?"

The question took Jacob by surprise. It was the first time in the conversation that the tables were turned, Jack suddenly in the driver's seat. He bowed his head, sadness playing on his features, but it was a guarded sadness.

"My mother, or who I thought was my mother. She, uh, she was manipulative and evil and…" Jacob paused, raising his head to lock eyes with Jack again while clearing his throat, his voice suddenly emotional, cracking, "her time was running out, so she needed someone to take her place. I was the only one around who could. I wasn't ready for it, but I didn't have a choice."

"So, she took me to a stream nearby, in the jungle, the very same stream from where this water comes," he kneeled down near the fire, his fingertips dipped into the thin pool of water that outlined the trench that the flames grew from, "and being so desperate to trust her, to make her love him, I drank, and ever since, I've been responsible for this place."

"And just like it had for her, my time is running out."

Jack could feel sympathy for Jacob swelling, relieved that there was still some part of him that could draw those emotions, which resembled human frailty at its most potent, but he couldn't hear any more, couldn't take in one more fragment of information. He felt like his head was going to explode if he was forced to listen to any more.

"I can't do this. I thought I could come back here and face this, maybe even accept it, but I can't. I'm not ready, not for this."

Jacob straightened, bringing his hands back together in front of him. "And I can't force you, it's not who I am, and it's not how I operate. I can only hope that one day you'll come back here and decide to want this, that you embrace it and all that comes with it, because once that happens, there is no turning back."

"And what if I choose not to protect the Island? What happens then?" Jack asked, terrified of the answer, but needing to know.

"This ends very badly…for all of us." Jacob confessed.

"What does that mean?"

"If no one protects the Island, then it'll cease to exist, and under no circumstances can that happen."

"Because of the energy that's inherent to it." Jack stated, recalling what Faraday told him about the Island's innate, unique properties, surprised that he remembered as much.

"Yes." Jacob said, impressed with what Jack knew. He wasn't the only one who had done his homework. "People have come far and wide, for thousands of years, to test it, to exploit it for their own gain. They come, they fight, they destroy, and they corrupt. It always ends the same."

"Desperate to stop that cycle for good, I created something from this energy, something that to this day, I deeply regret."

Putting two and two together, from what he was told from Faraday, Jack came to Jacob's conclusion himself, his eyes rounding. "The Smoke Monster."

Jacob nodded. "It was meant to be a security system, something so formidable that no one dare threaten the Island. I designed it so that I could control it, but it's since grown a mind of its own. I can still influence it, but only so far, for so long. Soon after I created it, I built a chamber on the other side of the Island that harnesses it, but it becomes more and more powerful, killing any and everything in its path, and Ben knows how to use it to his advantage."

"The Island traps it, keeps it from leaving to destroy everything else." Jacob said. "I was naïve to think that creating it was the way to defend anything. That which is made of man can never be perfect. It's my biggest mistake and I have no idea how to fix it."

Jack's mind revved with this information, and then it dawned on him something else that Faraday told him, about the Monster, the ever-growing build-up of the energy now that the Hatch was gone, and how disastrous it would be if nothing was done about it. He remembered a device of some kind, something that he had to detonate to fix things, a one-off that he had to be very careful with in terms of timing. Jack continued to sift through his fractured memories until Faraday's words broke through.

'_It's an Electromagnetic Pulse Device, ELMA for short…It'll disintegrate the Smoke Monster, and hopefully eradicate the instability.'_

With his splintered memory piecing itself back together, Jack needed to move, now. "I have to go." He said, backing away from the fire and turning towards the opening, marching with one-tracked intent.

Jacob attempted to stop him, not having told him everything yet. "Jack—"

Jack didn't even turn to address him as he continued to walk out. "I need to find my friends, and Juliet and Frank so that I can—"

"They're not here, Jack." Jacob confessed, his voice the loudest it had ever been, desperate to stop Jack from fleeing.

Jack, his attention peaked, stopped in mid-stride, turned and walked back to where he once stood, his fury spiking. "What are you talking about? Where are they?"

Jacob stood silent, not sure how to break the news. It was Jack's turn to raise his voice, his patience snapping in half. "Jacob, where are they?"

"It's not a question of _where_ your friends are, but _when_ _you_ are." Devastation hit Jack in the gut, leaving him powerless.

"Oceanic Flight 815 and the plane that you disappeared from don't crash here for another two-thousand years. You're in 2000 B.C." Jacob explained.

While devastation and rage were clearly marked on his face, Jack didn't have time to ask questions, physically exhausted from all the asking he'd already done. All he needed to know was one thing. "How do I get back to the present?"

Jacob's eyes grew somber, pleading. "Trust in what I'm telling you. You don't just yet, I can see it in your eyes, you're not ready to, but sooner than you could imagine, you're gonna have to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life, and the fate of this Island. It's the same decision I had to make, only I didn't know what I had to give, what I had to sacrifice."

Jack still looked uneasy and unconvinced. "It's a leap of faith, Jack. Ben won't stop. He will not stop until he's won, until the Island and everything I've ever done to protect it is destroyed. You'll know when it's time. The Island will be done with me by then, but it won't even have begun with you. I—"

With that, Jack was gone, phasing out of existence at the blink of an eye, right from where he stood, with no warning or welcome. It was like he was never there, the space he once occupied unmarked, unscathed by his sudden, swift vanishing.

Jacob stared at the spot from over the intensity of the flames, neither shocked nor terrified, but a grimace of sorrow and worry etched their way into his features. He knew what was happening to Jack and why. He also knew that he needed a big, emotional push in the right direction in order to have gotten this far, something to motivate him, to be the stepping stone on his way to not only forgiving himself, but also allowing himself redemption. Christian's letter was that timely motivator. He had been behind it all, working with his old and trusted friend, Eloise Hawking, to make sure that Jack received it and read it, the key to unlocking the journey he must take.

She herself had been to the Island many times before, beginning in the summer of 1977, when the war between them had begun, because of the incident that threatened to destroy the Island and unleash havoc and terror onto the rest of the world.

She was a strong, courageous young woman, determined to find what she was looking for, no matter the costs. Her investment in the success of the DHARMA Initiative and its intent to exploit the Island put them at odds with one another, until he revealed himself to her when she was walking through the jungle one brisk day, alone, left to her own thoughts and defenses. He explained the special nature of the Island, and how if they worked together, they could protect it. He allowed her and the Initiative to stay on the Island as long as they vowed to never exploit what they discovered. She reluctantly agreed to those conditions, and their partnership began from there, and so did a deep, abiding, unexpected friendship.

He shared things with her that he hadn't shared with anyone else, swallowed by solitude for so long that there was no one _to_ share it _with_, and while everyone knew her to be cold and unfeeling, calculating for the most part, he knew someone completely different. She was warm and attentive, she made him feel like the center of her universe, and he loved that feeling. If he were ever being honest with himself, he had fallen in love with her, but he never told her, because there was no future for them. His role and all that came with it never allowed him the luxury of true love, of lasting companionship. It was a fate of loneliness, more tragic than death.

She left the Island for good when she retired from her field post within the Initiative, but she still kept in touch. He thought of her often. She was in her early sixties by now, he remembered, still as beautiful as she ever was. She was his confidante, the only person he could trust to help him thwart what Ben was planning, and she had, no questions asked. Her son Daniel proved to be crucial in getting Jack back to the Island, just as his mother said he would be.

Their association was a well-kept secret, one that benefitted them both in exceptional ways. Daniel, when he came to the Island some twenty-five years after his mother, was spared the same fate as his fellow scientists, because he had promised her he would protect her only child as best he could, by preventing the Monster from killing him, using what little influence he had left to spare his life. He wished that he could have spared all the lives lost over the many centuries because of the raging creature he thought would be an asset to his purpose, but that was blood on his hands and there was nothing he could do to wash it away.

He had been one step ahead of Ben's deceit this entire time, implementing a plan that could have backfired at any moment, but one he had to risk. Ben will no doubt learn about Jack's return, and he will stop at nothing to stop him from claiming his fate. He anticipated desperation, then anger, and then revenge.

He told Jack all he could in the time he was allowed, had given him all the information he deemed necessary, now it was all up to him, and the clock was ticking, so loudly that it was all Jacob could hear.

"I hope we're not too late."

* * *

><p>"<em>Jack<em>? Is that you?"

Kate asked, her eyes searching the space that surrounded her. She saw nothing, only felt, but she called out anyways. _Jack was here_. He was back on the Island. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew. She smiled, her tears coming freely, gladly. He had come back just like he said he would. She cried out loud, laughing through happy tears.

But, her feelings of excitement and anticipation soon turned to panic. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. She sensed it with this new innate apparatus that somehow drew her to Jack like a magnet. He was in trouble, in serious danger and she couldn't inhale with it, her breaths coming out short and shallow. She remembered the whisper that had called her name all that time ago, the feeling it gave her under the layers of horror that collapsed over it. The familiarity of the voice had stayed with her, like a puzzle she had to solve. Fear rang through her at what she finally came to discover. The voice belonged to Jack. He was calling out to her, needing her. Had he been in trouble all this time? Had it taken her this long to realize it?

She hopped out of bed, grabbed her jeans and pushed her legs into them. Her hiking boots were next, as she pushed her feet into them, tying them quickly and tightly. She moved around frantically, pulling a shirt over her head as she grabbed for Jack's watch, pushing it into the safest pocket of her pack.

She began to horde her bag, but she didn't know where she was going, she just knew that she had to go. She didn't know where else to go but the beach, to enlist help. The more people out there looking for Jack, the better. What was she going to say to them though? That Jack was back and in trouble and that they needed to find him? That just wasn't enough, nothing seemed to be, not for them. Who would believe her? Asking them to trust her had gotten her nowhere, so, she was certain that no one was willing to help her, let alone believe her. According to the majority of the group, Jack coming back was a pipe dream that was never coming true. What evidence did she have that Jack was back to begin with, let alone in need of help? She didn't give a damn about proof, not after everything she'd already experienced without one shred of physical verification.

All she knew was that she had to find him, she had to save him.

She approached the door and looked back into the cabin over her shoulder, dreading to leave it, but for Jack, who drew her to this cabin in the first place, she'd do anything. She knew that she would find the cabin again, of that she wasn't worried, not anymore. It always seemed to find her, now that she thought about it. She only worried that she was too late.

She pulled the strap of her rifle over her shoulder as she turned the doorknob, greeting the jungle, her old friend, with determination and speed. She closed the door behind her and sprinted into the direction from which she came the last time the cabin appeared to her, making a beeline for the beach.


	20. One of Them

Kate rushed onto the shaded sand of the beach, having met the quiet and tranquil atmosphere with reckless abandonment, not taking the time to make her presence known to anyone but the person she was looking for, who wasn't on the beach at all. She turned and her eyes watched as he approached from further down the shoreline, carrying a bundle of bananas over his shoulder, watching the waves as they crashed into the shore. He looked as peaceful as he could possibly look, and she hated to disturb that, but she had no choice. He was the only one she trusted to tell this information. She sighed her relief, as she began to move towards him.

She did regret that this wasn't a social visit, that she didn't have the time to check in on Claire and Aaron, and Sun, who must be showing by now, ever so slightly, but there would be time for that once she found Jack. She had to find him.

Kate ran up to him, catching him off guard with her unexpected, almost-magical presence. "Sayid, I need to talk to you."

Sayid dropped his cargo to the ground immediately, reading the panic in her face upon impact and readying himself to spring into action. "Kate, what's wrong? What happened?"

"It's Jack." Kate said, her breathing still erratic, her appearance sweaty and literally dragging if not for the excitement that shone in her eyes with those two words. "He's back on the Island."

Sayid simply watched her, speechless. "What? Where did you see him?"

"I didn't exactly…" she stalled, looking down, then back up again, waiting for the doubt to form in his eyes, "_see_ him."

"Then, how can you possibly know that—?" Sayid started.

"It's the cabin." Kate interrupted. "I found it again, and that's where I've been staying this entire time."

"So, the cabin _told_ you that Jack is on the Island?" Sayid said, his tone dripping with disbelief and sarcasm. She shot him a scathing look, one he recognized, one he never wanted directed his way again.

"The last time I saw you, I had no idea why it was more necessary than breathing for me to be there, but now I do. I know why I've felt this draw to it. It's Jack. I'm positive."

"How is that possible?" Sayid asked.

"I don't know. How is anything that's ever happened since we've crashed here, possible?" Kate stressed, watching the defeat in Sayid's face. He couldn't fight her logic there.

"The first time I found the cabin, something—", she cut herself short, correcting her thought, "someone whispered my name." Sayid's eyebrows shot up, trying his best to keep up with the ball of adrenaline standing in front of him. The realms of what were possible and what was impossible were blurring together the more Kate spoke.

"The voice, it sounded so familiar, but I was too scared to realize it then, too confused, too wrapped up in how any of it was possible, but now, there's this… _clarity_, this energy and it just exploded all around me, and all I know is that it's Jack. He's in trouble, and I need your help."

Sayid bent his arm, bringing his hand to his chin, scratching there, while his other arm was wrapped around his torso, in a classic thinking stance, focused on the fact that she was certain that Jack was in danger and thinking through how that could be. The only way he could get anywhere was to pick her brain.

"What kind of trouble? Has someone taken him?"

"I don't know." Kate paced in front of him, her hands on her hips. She turned, her eyes bright with an idea. "Maybe Ben has him again. Maybe he spotted him and locked him up somewhere."

"The last time we saw Jack and Ben together, they were shaking hands, Kate. I doubt that he's the one putting him in danger." Sayid reasoned.

"We don't know that." She shot back. "You still doubt that Jack has come back at all, I can see it in your eyes, but he has Sayid. I don't know how I know this, how that cabin is even related to Jack at all and how I knew to go there, but it is and I _did_, and that _means_ something! It has to!"

He could see her frustration boiling, the helplessness that she felt while Jack was out there, alone and having no idea how to proceed, how to find him. This was different from when she ran after him the last time, with her ponytail tied tight, her rifle full of bullets, not even taking the time to eat anything of substance before she was stomping through the high grass and the unforseen dangers that awaited her. She knew exactly where to go, who to blame and there was no time to waste. Now, there was nothing to go on but a gut feeling wrapped in the craziness of what she had experienced in that cabin. It was all she had to go on.

Sayid could see that she was about to lose it, rubbing at her forehead with twitchy fingers. He reached out, cupped her shoulders, tried to douse the panic attack that he was sure was brewing. "Kate—"

"Sayid, if I was ever your friend, if Jack was ever your friend and if getting off of this Island means _anything_ to you, you'll help me."

The fire in her eyes was stubborn; no easy, light shower could extinguish it. She was ready to do battle, but this time, she knew she couldn't brave it alone. This time, unlike the last, she was asking for his help, begging, something that Kate never did unless it was about something she cared very deeply about. What feelings had she ever had that ran deeper than those for Jack?

"Please." She stressed, her emotions on the edge, teetering. Sayid was about to speak when the Tennessee drawl, belonging to the one and only, could be heard close by, as snarky and pointed as ever.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to come back after all."

"Not now, Sawyer. Please." Sayid pleaded with him, looking down at Kate, who rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice coming from behind her, wiping at her tears, too proud for Sawyer to see them.

Sawyer stepped forward, ignoring Sayid's warning, inches away from Kate now, who still stood with her back to him, her hands wiping under her eyes in the classic sign that tears were being brushed away. His first instinct was to question her about the tears, but he wasn't in a generous mood, especially after she dismissed him the last time he tried to help her. He wasn't here to help, he was just bored really, Kate his easy target for the time being.

Sawyer looked from Kate to Sayid, his head cocked to the side stubbornly. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interruptin' somethin'?"

"Aren't you always?" Kate bristled as she turned to face him.

Sawyer brought a hand to his chest in mock surprise at her attitude. "Ooh, testy. Something happen back there in that humble abode of yours?" He asked. Kate and Sayid exchanged side glances that spoke to the moment Sawyer knew damn well he had interrupted.

"Ah, I guess it's a secret. One I ain't unwillin' to figure out."

"Jack's back." Kate said in a matter of fact tone, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive pose. She could see the slip from steely bravado in his eyes, to shock, but he shooed it away, countering swiftly.

"Oh, is he now?" Sawyer challenged her. "Well, is he invisible or just shy?" He laughed, looking around for him, sarcastically of course. "Where the hell is he?"

Kate and Sayid shared another glance, and then looked back at Sawyer, who was pretty sure the news that Jack was back wasn't the most interesting bit of information.

"You don't know, do you?" Sawyer asked, glee dancing in his eyes. "How is that possible? Maybe it's all in your head Freckles, just like the very idea that he was ever comin' back at all."

Amid Sawyer's taunting, Kate noticed that Sayid's eyes were fixated in the distance, shaded with curiosity and surprise. She followed his eyes and watched as a woman walked toward the beach, a pack over her shoulder, her long, blonde ponytail caught in the wind. She recognized her from the cages. She was the other doctor, Jack's friend, the one who worked for Ben. She was the one who killed Pickett and helped her and Sawyer escape, and more importantly, she had left the Island with Jack, Ben had informed her, all too smugly in fact.

What did he say her name was again?

_Juliet_.

"Who is that?" Sayid asked, recognizing the looks of recognition on Sawyer and Kate's faces.

"She's one of them, an Other. What the hell is she doing here?" Sawyer asked, his voice losing its biting edge and taking on a more outraged tone. Kate, her heart rising into her throat, was off, approaching her like a bullet.

"Where is he, Juliet?" She asked, her voice shaken, trembling. She knew that the only reason Juliet would come here was if she had news about Jack. It was the only way she'd risk facing people she knew wouldn't trust her.

Juliet stumbled, not able to form words, which left Kate reeling with panic. She looked back at the group that formed over Kate's shoulder, staring on curiously. There were so many people Jack cared for, took care of, Juliet thought as she drank in their faces. She finally caught the face of one in particular, Claire, and her beautiful baby boy, who was wrapped up in a blanket, quiet and still against his mother's chest, having no clue their connection to Jack. She hated to be the one to do this to them, to tell them that he was lost, maybe even dead, and that she had no idea how to find him.

If it were good news she would have said it already, Kate thought, which meant that she was right, Jack was in trouble, serious trouble.

"Where is he?" Kate screamed, her patience snapping.

Juliet shook her head before she confessed with devastated eyes, "I don't know."

* * *

><p>Raindrops sprinkled over the darkened jungle, the rhythmic tap of its shower painted the silence with a kind of peace. A tranquil verve that had been broken with the lightning race above, thunder reverberating through the leaves and the mountains, awakening the turbulent nature of this place, like a sleeping giant brought back to life.<p>

Jack lay in the middle of all of it, his consciousness lost, his clothes soaked, clinging to his limp body. Suddenly, he stirred, opening his eyes to the downpour. Desperate to breathe, but finding that his lungs wouldn't inflate with air, he coughed, lightly at first, and then loudly and repeatedly, coming up from the ground slightly while he did so. Once he felt like his rib cage wasn't being crushed under a steel beam, his head fell back into the grass, his body growing flaccid again. Breathing was still a chore, but not as much as it had been before.

He was dizzy, his stomach twisted into a pretzel, the desire to vomit evident and pushing, but he breathed through it. He squinted against the torrent and could only make out the faint outline of trees, and the sky, the black clouds and the pop of lightning that brought that tiny hint of luminance necessary to make out those tiny details. It was so dark; he could barely see the tip of his own nose. He pushed himself upright, and looked around into his shadowy atmosphere and gulped.

He was in the middle of the jungle, the throes of the rainstorm, strong and merciless.

He had disappeared again, he realized, first from the plane, and now from wherever he had finally come face to face with Jacob. He started to remember things from before, things that Jacob told him, about his role on the Island and how his time was running out, and how he had chosen him to take his place. He remembered the information about the Smoke Monster, how out of control and the creature had become over time, with Jacob its regretful creator. There was something that he was rushing off to do, something he needed to get it before he plummeted into darkness, nothingness, only to wake up here. It suddenly came to him again, what he needed to do but now he couldn't, because while he was still on the Island, he didn't know when he was on the Island.

Whatever was happening to him, it wouldn't _stop_ happening, not even long enough for him to save everyone.

Was Jacob doing this? He wondered. Was he somehow controlling when he came and went? Why else would this be happening? If Jacob had the power to heal, he could have the ability to cause this too, right?

With all these lingering thoughts clouding his brain, rage built inside of him. This was all Jacob's fault, he decided. None of this would be happening to him, or to the people he cared about, if it wasn't for that man. He wanted to spite him, to say to hell with this Island and everything about it, just to make him pay for what he was putting him through. He rose onto wobbly legs, immediately noticing that he wasn't as weak as he was the last time. He wasn't hurt, just a little banged up, but he was so angry that the pain of it felt like a drop in the ocean. He took a few feeble steps forward, almost slipping in the mud, his voice like the howl of a wild, wounded animal.

"Jacob!" Jack screamed at the empty breadth of the wet, dark jungle, his voice hoarse, his fury at what was happening making him crazy. He coughed up more water from his lungs, wondering just how long he'd been lying here, how long this would happen to him before he gave into the hopelessness of it.

"Jacob!" His voice trailed back to him in a vacant echo.

There was no one out there. He was all alone this time, and that fact, was scarier than any destiny he had been running from. The rain fell loud enough to drain out the loneliness, thunder rumbling through the leaves, clouds overhead becoming darker somehow. Oddly enough, he didn't feel cold, the soaked clinch of his clothes and the cold chill didn't cause discomfort. He felt something sticking out of his pocket and reached to retrieve it. His eyes widened at its presence, and then his forehead crinkled in confusion.

His father's letter.

He didn't remember sticking it in his pocket on the plane, but he didn't remember putting it down either. There was so much going on, the turbulence, Frank, the storm. He could barely remember a thought besides praying for their safety. It was the only thing that he had left from before vanishing from the cockpit, meeting Jacob, before all of it. It was the only thing he could actually _feel_. The texture of the paper between his fingertips, the emotions he could literally sense his father putting into every word. There was still so much unsettled there, so much he still needed to say, but he couldn't sit down and write a letter and hope that it would get to his father somehow, in some way, because he was gone. His chance was gone.

The sounds of something close by cut through his thoughts, but he wasn't sure what to make of it. He focused his hearing, while he folded the letter and placed it back into his pocket. Seconds later, he caught the sound of crashing waves, the smell of the sea water wafting by him. There was a shore in the distance, a beach. The torrential winds that followed proved his point as more waves could be discerned.

Driven by this clue, he ran through the trees in a hot pursuit. The thunder clapped louder overhead, but it only heightened his motivation. The sound became more prominent the faster he ran and the storm followed, rain falling from the sky at a quickened pace, his line of sight drenching under the weighty spray of it. The line of trees had suddenly ended, and the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Utter chaos wreaked its havoc. The sea was waving well above the shoreline, uncontrolled, climbing towards the storm above, as if Poseidon had raised the waters himself in a blood-thirsty wrath against Earth. The beach was like a gravitating vortex, powerful in its grip, sucking the sand into the winds. He saw something in the distance, but couldn't make it out. A wave fell from its climax, ricocheting with the sand and causing the ground to quake. He held to the tree nearby, but knew that it wouldn't be enough, but he couldn't move, his eyes fixed on the mystery object in the waters, deep and far, but growing closer.

Was that a ship? He asked himself. It was closer to the beach now, the waves picking it up and propelling it forward. He could see the outline of sails, wide and flapping. The bow looked like it pointed to the sky only to crash downward causing the water to accommodate the drop by spreading out, causing more of it to hit the beach expanding what was left of the sand. Its momentum has quadrupled by then, intensifying its draw towards the Island. He watched its path with reckless infatuation, until something embedded within the haze of rain and darkened fog caught his eyes, the outline of something larger than life drawing all of his attention. The outline was filled by stone, carved into epic proportions too massive to miss.

A statue.

It sat within the hub of the storm, towering high and mighty, so high that he had to bend pretty far to see the top. He'd seen it before. He scanned through his clouded memory banks, trying to find some piece, some clue, something, anything that would place this all-too familiar effigy. Realization set in on a muddled recollection. It was the statue he'd seen when he woke up on the beach, this beach apparently, in grave pain. It was the last thing he remembered capturing his attention before he passed out. Jacob said that he'd found him that way, unconscious, bleeding, dying, and that he'd carried him to where he was when he woke up next, but there was no way he could have carried him very far. The man could heal and do whatever else he hadn't told him, but he doubted that super-strength was in his armory of powers. He didn't look like he had help either. The man was eternally alone. He didn't know why he was so sure of this, but he was.

That could only mean one thing. This statue, the bed below its feet, was where Jacob lived.

In that very instant, the ship crashed smack dab into the object of his eye, splintering it into pieces in a loud, explosive collision. Jack watched in petrified horror, his attention taken away from the water steadily moving closer, rolling under the ship's belly, coming straight for him, but when the thought to run shook him out of his astonishment, it was too late.

The ship's unstoppable plunge into the jungle took him with it, the colossal waves so fast and so powerful, he had no chance against them.

* * *

><p>The group murmured, taking in the shocking news. Kate was beyond herself now, her eyes showing every emotion that passed through her tortured heart, her voice on the very cliff between shock and outrage.<p>

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Juliet braced herself, breathing calmly before she told what happened. "We were flying in, everything was going fine, and then we hit this thunderstorm." She explained, addressing not only Kate, but the entire group.

"The plane….there was just a lot of turbulence. The pilot was knocked out for I don't know how long. Jack was trying to fly us out of harm's way when he…" Juliet rubbed her forehead, a very clear sign of distress. The simple action heightened Kate's already rising pulse.

"When he what?" Kate pressed, breathing through her nose, funneling the air in and out in such a way that attempted to calm the flutters of her pulse. It wasn't helping.

"He disappeared Kate, out of thin air." Juliet admitted, letting her emotions show with this revelation. "I had my back turned for five seconds, then there was this blast of bright violet light and when I turned around, he was gone."

Everyone looked crestfallen, absolutely devastated by the news, but no one more so than Kate, who found it hard to breathe, clearly ready to fall apart now.

"He came back." Sawyer piped up in an amazed tone, garnering everyone's attention. He looked shell-shocked, a bit overwhelmed, never having allowed himself to believe in even the hope of rescue until now. The rest of the group looked just as guilty for ever having doubted Jack, and Kate for that matter, who had told the truth from the start. Sawyer had never shown such a humbled, emotionally bothered, almost touched expression before. It made it more real for everyone else, more devastating and scary.

"How does something like this happen?" Claire asked, obviously devastated, settling a distraught Aaron, who seemed to be taking in the harrowing news as well, even at his fragile age, as he whined and squirmed in his mother's arms. She adjusted him as she continued to question the absurdity of the situation. "How does someone just…vanish?"

"What if he's dead?" Hurley asked worriedly, voicing everyone's worst fear.

"He's not dead." Kate said resolutely, harshly with a timber of vulnerability, but to no one in particular, being pulled out of her devastation by those words. She would not believe that Jack was dead, she wouldn't entertain the thought. He couldn't be. He was out there somewhere. He had to be.

She locked gazes with Sayid, who was finally convinced of what she confessed to him earlier, that Jack was in danger. There was no way to deny it now. Her connection to that cabin, and to Jack, was undeniable. Something stronger than anything he could ever imagine tethered the two of them together. It defied all understanding, but it was real, and had led Kate to know things that were impossible to know unless it was true.

Charlie stepped up to Kate, his eyes somber and full of regret. "You were right Kate, and I didn't believe you. I'm sorry." She patted him on the shoulder, acknowledging his apology with a small, grateful smile. She then turned to the others, steel in her spine.

"It doesn't matter what happened. I don't need apologies; I need everyone to be willing to act. We just need to come together now to find him."

"Where would we even begin to look? This Island isn't exactly small by any margin, and if I recall, there's more than one of them. He could be anywhere. Juliet said he disappeared into thin air, right? He could be on the moon for all we know." Bernard reasoned.

Kate shook her head. "He's here on the Island."

"How do you know that, Kate?" Rose asked.

"I just know, Rose. Call it faith or following my heart, but I just…._know_." She said shyly under the intense study of the older woman's eyes, not quite ready to share the information about the cabin and how it had drawn her out from the very night she returned to the beach from the Others' compound, weathered and weary.

Rose gave her a small smile, recalling the last moments she'd shared alone with this remarkable young woman, her words having stayed with her in a big way it seemed. Whatever she had mangled herself to find, she must have found it, she deduced with confidence. There was something different about her, the lost soul she'd patched up all those weeks ago suddenly dissolved, the passionate and determined heroine before her prepared to set sail on open seas and brave any foe that stood in her way for Jack. Rose could see how much she loved him; it was in everything she was designed to be.

"We need to organize search parties," Sayid said, speaking up from the back of the group, walking towards Kate. "It'll be a stretch and a gamble, but it's all we can do." He looked down at her, giving her a nod that spoke of his belief in her, of his willingness to help, to follow her lead. She grinned gratefully, giving a short nod of her own in retort.

"Good idea." Juliet nodded, having drawn everyone's attention again. They had forgotten that she was there amid their shared grief and planning of the next move. "I'll gladly lead one of the teams. We can split into—"

"Hold on. Why exactly are _you_ leadin' anything? Why are you even talkin'?" Sawyer interrupted her, stepping up to her with pure aggression taunt in every muscle in his body, ready to do battle with the beautiful blonde. He didn't trust this woman as far as he could throw her, and he wasn't going to start now.

Juliet took note of his physical command, not at all intimidated, but very amused by him. She predicted this encounter and while she enjoyed being right, she didn't enjoy being interrupted, especially after risking so much to come here and give them the news. There wouldn't even be a course of action if it wasn't for that.

"Because I've been on this Island far longer than any of you and I'm just as anxious to find Jack as you are." Juliet cocked her head, giving Sawyer just as much attitude as he gave.

"We appreciate you comin' here to tell us about the Doc, Blondie, but we don't need your help and we don't want it." Sawyer easily dismissed her, lighting the fuse to her temper, not even noticing the trigger he just set off, but he would soon notice and regret it.

"Really?" She asked, offended by his sudden memory lapse. She stepped up to him. "Well, you needed my help a few months ago, didn't you? Or do you not remember my saving your life? Shooting down one of my oldest friends to make sure you and Kate were able to escape?"

Sawyer scoffed. "You did that for Ben and you know it. Jack had your boyfriend's life hanging in the balance and the only way he was gonna let him live was if you helped us escape, so spare me your tears about that bastard Pickett. He got exactly what he deserved."

Kate rounded Sawyer, facing Juliet with accusing, distrustful eyes, having been reminded of this woman's allegiance with Ben and the Others. "Why did you come back? I thought you wanted off this Island for good."

Juliet could sense the suspicion and hostility in her tone, and it didn't sit well, but she remained calm, opting to plead her case instead, but boy was she ready for this face-off, had been ever since she thought she could march onto the compound and rescue Jack from a situation she left him to shoulder on his own. Her vie for attention knew no bounds.

"I came back to help Jack rescue _you_," Juliet huffed pointedly, "all of you."

"Or maybe you just came back to score points." Kate argued.

Juliet bowed her head, a short laugh escaping. She snapped her head back up, eyes burning. "Are you accusing me of something, Kate?"

"Is it really that hard to tell?" Kate spat back, her attitude revving up and leaving no patience for this woman and her presence. "Maybe you came back to help yourself. Why else would you give a damn about any of us after getting what you want?"

"Interesting choice of words, because we've all been helping ourselves, haven't we, _Kate_?"

Kate crossed her arms defensively, not backing down from that obvious accusation. "Are you accusing me of something, Juliet?"

"Is it really that hard to tell?" Juliet retorted, watching as Kate exaggerated an eye-roll. "You just had to come back after Jack explicitly made you promise not to. You almost ruined any chance of him leaving this Island, because you just have to be the center of his world. You just had to—"

Kate had heard enough, stepping up to her, her voice rising. "I was trying to save him!"

"Bullshit!" Juliet yelled, her gasket blown. "Did it look like he was in danger? Did he look miserable to you? Did it look like his life was hanging in the balance? He was fine. He didn't need you, Kate, and that's what bothers yo—"

"Don't you dare try to make it look like you people were never a threat to him, to any of us!" Kate erupted, her temper past the boiling point. "You shot at us, abducted us, you tied our hands behind our backs and put bags over our heads. You and your people took whatever you wanted when you wanted even after every precaution we took as a group to defend ourselves."

"I risked my life to go back for him because I honestly believed that he was in danger, because that's all I've ever experienced from you people. Manipulation, violence and death. You think you know Jack better than I do, huh? Well you don't. I know exactly why he told me not to try to find him, because he was trying to protect me, he didn't want me to get hurt."

Juliet just looked at her, like she was meeting her for the first time. The urge to laugh in her face was hot in her belly, but she fought against it, because she had other plans that would set her straight on just who Jack had become because of her. Was she really this ignorant, this self-centered?

"Is that what you think?" Then it dawned on her. She had no idea, no clue the real reason why things had fallen out the way they had. Her voice was soft, a revelation brewing. "You don't think anyone else knows, do you?"

"Knows what?" Kate asked.

"Did you ever ask yourself why you, Jack and Sawyer were captured in the first place? Of all the people on this beach, what would Ben possibly want with the three of you?" Juliet challenged.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Sawyer asked. "He needed Jack to—"

"You're exactly right James," Juliet cut him off, "he needed _Jack_, he was the goal, but what about you two? What did Ben possibly want with a career con-artist and a criminal? He threw you both in cages like dogs, and treated you as such, had you breaking rocks all day just to keep you busy until he found use for you."

"Just get to the point already." Sawyer barked at her, frustrated with her insults, her voice and her presence for that matter, this woman pressing all of his buttons just by breathing.

"Ben's plan was to achieve one thing and one thing only, to emotionally crush Jack, and the most important component of that plan was you, Kate."

Kate's eyes squinted with suspicion and curiosity. "Ben infiltrated your camp as Henry Gale so that he could learn more about the group dynamic and you know what he picked up on? Jack's feelings for you and yours for him, _and_ Sawyer. So, he found it. He found his way to get Jack to do the surgery."

"What does one have to do with the other?" Sawyer asked.

Kate angled her head in his direction, her voice travelling over her shoulder. "Ben told me that he was threatening your life to force Jack's hand, to make him believe that he would actually kill you, by sending me to convince him that he would, to change his mind about the surgery." She rubbed a hand over her head, her mind recalling the events clearly through her rage. "The son of a bitch even thanked me for it."

"So, I was just there for get my face knocked in like clockwork? Perfect." Sawyer sighed.

"About three days after you were captured, Ben presented his medical file to Jack. Every single notation, every test result, every X-ray, every professional opinion about his tumor was in that file, and Jack literally threw it back in his face. You're right Kate, but he didn't tell you the whole story." Juliet said.

"After Jack said no the first time, Ben had me take you to him, after you'd seen the lengths he would go to by having Sawyer beaten within an inch of his life. He wanted you scared and devastated, and he wanted Jack to see it, to manipulate him into agreeing to the surgery, because Jack would do anything for you, wouldn't he? But, this time, he didn't budge, not even for his precious Kate, not yet anyway."

"There were cameras where Ben was keeping him. He was watching the entire encounter between the two of you. He watched you beg and he watched Jack get angrier and angrier the more you pleaded with him, practically yelling for you to leave, because he knew what Ben was doing. When Ben saw his plan unraveling, he got desperate."

"How desperate?" Sawyer asked.

Juliet turned to him. "Like I said, there were cameras everywhere, and the camera that was pointed towards your cage wasn't broken, James." Sawyer bowed his head, and turned to Kate, who was suddenly pale, the flush in her cheeks from her arduous trek draining.

"Where we were keeping Jack, it was in the same wing as the relay station, where all the video feed from the cameras is picked up by security monitors." Juliet met Kate's eyes, "soon after I took you back to your cage, Ben ordered one of his lackeys to unlatch the door to where we were keeping him."

"Just as Ben wanted, Jack escaped, and he was primed to fight tooth and nail to find you Kate, giving his life to make sure you were safe if he had to." Juliet's voice took on a harsh, angry register then, having seen what she was about to reveal hurt her dear friend to the point where he could barely see straight for the pain was so real and ever-present. She wanted that kind of pain for Kate, and she would get it.

"But instead of you waiting patiently for him to rescue you, do you want to know what he found instead?"

Kate stood motionless, cold, and numb. This couldn't be happening, could it? This couldn't be real, could it? She silently prayed.

Sawyer could sense Juliet's mission of embarrassing Kate going too far, and he couldn't stand by any longer. "Juliet, sto—"

"The image of you naked in Sawyer's arms, after you'd obviously had sex with him." Juliet said loud enough for all to hear. The group looked between Kate and Sawyer, the moment so awkward and excruciatingly baffling they wanted to spare their friends this embarrassment by backing away to leave them alone, but the damage had been done. No amount of privacy could spare this moment now.

Juliet wore a smug grin, her dazzling blue eyes danced with satisfaction. "And it didn't take you very long, did it?"

The gravity of what Kate had just heard crushed her lungs in its fist, making the simple act of breathing terribly laborious. The tears came freely at this point as she looked down at the ground, her mouth agape in her shock. Sawyer looked over at her, wanting so badly to comfort her, but knowing in his gut that she would reject him. Everyone knew now. Everyone knew what they had done. There was a sense of relief for him, a weight lifted, but for Kate, this was the end.

"Ben had a backup plan, Kate. He was never gonna kill Sawyer. He is a liar. Every word that comes out of his mouth is a lie. You opening your legs at the first sign of the situation being utterly hopeless was _exactly_ what Ben wanted you to do, and you played right into his hands. Congratulations."

"That's enough!" Sawyer spat, one move away from punching her square in the mouth to get her to shut up, but she ignored him and kept going, on a roll that she'd been mentally practicing for months, twisting the dagger she'd so mercilessly plunged through Kate's heart, destroying her.

"Do you want to know the truth about why Jack shut you out Kate?" Juliet asked, her words biting with sarcasm and disgust. The desolation painting and the tears staining her face the jackpot she was looking for and she was greedy for more.

"Jack told you not to come back not because he wanted to protect you. He told you not to come back because you broke his heart," Juliet said in such a matter of fact tone, every single word was punctuated with exactness, but then her tone turned nasty again, vile and damaging, "and he wasn't gonna give you a fat chance in hell of doing it again."

_Because you broke his heart. _

To Kate, those words were like body blows. Tears streamed down her face, and she didn't make a move to swipe at them. Her worst fear was not only real, it had been real for awhile now, and she had no idea. Jack _knew_. He knew about her and Sawyer, what they did and he saved them anyways. Worst of all, the last time she saw him, in the game room, he knew then too, and he said nothing.

She thought back to their last moments together. His distant behavior, the clipped, concise way he spoke to her, the way he wouldn't really allow her to emotionally connect with him, the searing image of her and Sawyer together branded into his mind the catalyst to steer clear of her. She was no longer someone he could consider a haven, but a danger, maybe even more dangerous than the group of people that surrounded them then. It all made perfect sense now.

He hadn't changed because of his time with the Others, he had changed because of her. She was still confused, because while her last moments with Jack were rocky at first, once she inched her way through the cracks in the wall he had placed against her, he softened, and she felt it, ran with it even. He was still holding back though, he still kept his distance, but what she could gather from the warmth in his eyes and the fullness of his touch, she cherished, took to memory. It was the last she had of him, but he had given more. He gave her his father's watch, he promised to come back for her and he had, after she had hurt him in the worst possible way. Why would he do that for her after she'd torn him apart?

She had no idea of the depth of Jack's feelings. To have broken his heart would imply that he had given it to her. Things were always so complicated, their pasts, their habits, the pressures of surviving and keeping everyone safe and secure kept their attention off of what was always brewing between them, and now it might be too late to tell him how sorry she was, how much she had always loved him and how hurting him was the worst offense she had ever committed.

She didn't know what to do with herself now. She'd felt dirty about what she'd done with Sawyer before, when she thought that it was this sordid secret between the two of them, but now that Jack knew, her entire world was blown apart, traces of it like shards of glass in the sand at her feet. She felt everything spinning out of orbit, so she gripped her head to steady her dizziness, breathing heavily, asthmatically. She was visibly trembling, sobs ebbing and flowing from her lips. Everyone expected her to pounce on Juliet for having done this, but she just stood there, shaking her head, mumbling through her tears.

Sawyer finally broke down and reached for her, to help her, worried for her. She deftly whipped away from him, pushing at his hands before they could land against her, before he could ever dare say that it was okay. Nothing was okay, and it would never be. Not ever again.

"Don't touch me!" Kate growled while pushing her hair out of her face, righting herself as she almost tripped over her own two feet. The thought of his hands on her in any way made her physically sick.

Sawyer froze, disgusted with himself through Kate's obvious aversion of him. He caught the regret and pain in her eyes, and the anger. She couldn't lie about her regret soon after their moments in those cages, and she most certainly wasn't hiding it now. He could see her hatred for herself in those haunting green eyes of hers, and his heart was breaking for her more than it was for himself, because as much as she said it before, about there not being anything to resolve between them, he was no longer in denial. If it wasn't obvious that Jack was the man she loved and longed for before, there was no mistaking it now. The fact that she'd hurt him took every ounce of fight she had left. He had never seen her look this vacant and lost in every way a person could be lost.

Kate backed away from him, turning her eyes to the group, all of whom watched her with sympathy and confusion in their eyes, this strong, capable girl that was ready to take on the world just moments ago suddenly reduced to inconsolable ruins, crushed like a bug under Juliet's boot. It was a sorrowful sight that none of them could really do anything about. Kate Austen looked sick not only in her body, but in her soul. How do you cure that? How do you even begin to console it?

Everyone could sense it, what she was about to do. She was going to run. She was going to punish herself, force herself into exile as fast as her feet could carry her. They hadn't known Kate for very long, but they knew her habits, her ways. When things got tough for others, Kate was always there, like a rock, but when things were rocky for her, running was always the most plausible solution. It was a conundrum no one dared try to decipher.

She turned away to leave, the pressure in her head and the pain in her heart too much to deal with when everyone was staring holes through her.

"Kate, please don't go." Sun rounded her husband as she spoke up, the emotion and pain in her voice for her friend heard loud and clear. Her hand sat over the semi-conspicuous bump of her abdomen, evidence of her pregnancy's progression, of all she wanted to share with her friend, who seemed to be losing herself in this chaos.

Kate continued on her way, her path leading her back into the jungle, back into obscurity, into loneliness, where she belonged, where she deserved to belong. Sun, noticing that her plea fell on death ears, decided to play the only card that would get Kate to stop and reconsider.

"What about Jack? Don't you want to find him?"

Kate stopped short, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes tightly to flush the sea of tears from her blurred vision, sighing loudly and achingly. _More than you can possibly imagine_, she thought to say, but did she even deserve that desire now? Had she ever? Did she deserve to want to see Jack again after hurting him so terribly, after not just being honest and telling him, even if he already knew? Would she always destroy everything she loved?

Bowing her head, she tucked her dented chin into her chest, hiding behind the curtain of her curls, absolutely crushed, mortified and not to be bargained with, not about this. Her head rose on a chocked sob, and her feet were moving once more.

And just like that, she was gone, again.

* * *

><p>Jack woke with a bit of a start, coughing immediately, trying to catch his breath. His wide eyes caught the bright blue sky above through the trees, the sun beaming down over everything. It was daylight now; the storm had passed, leaving the jungle to dry and the winds to calm. He laid his hands over his chest, trying to verify the reality of his existence, which was a feeble trick of the mind, he knew, but it didn't stop him. He didn't even know if he existed anymore, what the rules were, and how the raw impact of that wave crashing into him hadn't killed him instantly. The laws of Physics governed that it should have.<p>

He collapsed back against the ground, wiped out, but alert, his garbled breathing mingling with the silence. Was he immortal now? Somehow unable to be hurt, to die? That couldn't be true. If it were, how could he possibly explain the wound he'd woken up to on the beach?

Maybe that was when it all changed, when Jacob spared his life. It had altered something. He felt changed, not because of what he was experiencing, his body and his mind being ripped from one moment in time to the next, randomly, like his entire existence was stuck in shuffle, but because of something that seemed to have seeped into his bones. Jacob had done more than save his life, Jack began to realize, and with the stark reality that he may never know just what that was.

It was because he had chosen him to protect the Island, and he was branded with that fate now that he was met with its truth. Maybe the more this happened to him, the deeper he went into the void, the more cut off from all of reality he was, even the elements. He didn't feel much of anything, not now and not from before, when he stood in the waffling cold of the storm, wet down to his bones, and still, nothing, not even a chill, his only sensation the textured actuality of his father's letter in his back pocket.

Jacob hadn't told him everything. Come to think of it, he said so much, but nothing at all, nothing that was useful to him in the moment and could get him where he needed to go. How was he supposed to protect the Island in the present or future if getting to the ELMA device was pretty much impossible? What if he was stuck in this limbo forever, trapped with only his thoughts and motivations to fill the silence? Always running but never really going anywhere?

Rushing those thoughts away, he rose from off his back, his body playing catch-up with his mind, which wanted him to stand and seek the answers to his many questions. After he wiped his hands over his face, he looked out and around to his surroundings and took in the fresh, new details. The old, ripe age of the jungle he knew was gone. The leaves were lush in the trees, the grass was full. There wasn't a single stitch of a path noticeable to his untrained eye, not one twig hung broken from rushed feet. This place felt like it had never been discovered, never touched or tainted. It was novel.

This was virgin territory. Primordial and erringly silent.

He hadn't gone anywhere, another certain thought he had no idea how he knew, but he had. The water had simply washed him back to where he was before, alone in the middle of the jungle without the slightest idea what to do next. Yelling out for Jacob had only caused a blistering headache, and was ill-advised in his condition. It wasn't like the bastard was ever going to show himself and take credit for what he'd done, or at the very least admit that this was some sick initiation into a job, a destiny he wasn't completely sure he really wanted.

Then, he remembered the ship. It was headed for the Island, a straight shot, and had to have been in the jungle somewhere, wrecked, toppled. There had to be someone on it, right? The captain? A crew member, maybe? Could anyone have survived _that_? There was only one way to find out.

He got to his feet and made his way through the trees, the vessel not hard to find if it was the larger than life monstrosity he remembered helplessly spiraling through the storm. Eventually, after wandering around with no clues drawing him to what he was looking for, he could make out the faint lining of something through the leaves, in the clearing close by, blocking the sunlight. He stumbled forward, moving through a sheet of dangling vines to reveal the blast from the past, or was it now the future?

The Black Rock.

It was sitting in the very spot it had been when he and the others trekked to it for dynamite, but it hadn't been there for many years, cracked and molded by age and abandonment. It had just arrived, destroying Jacob's statue in the process. He couldn't escape the gargantuan certainty of it, and it somehow brought relief.

Before he could fully react to its presence or inspect for any survivors, in a flash, he was gone, again.


	21. A Man Apart

_**Hello. Okay, so it's been way too long for this story, and those following it have most likely moved on by now, but I want to complete it, for whoever is left out there to enjoy it. With that being said, Monica (aka emerson023) set a pretty big standard recently, when she demanded something that is pretty common sense of her readership: TO LEAVE REVIEWS. I have adopted the same standard for my stories as well. **_

_**For me, this kind of goes without saying for anything that I read, regardless of if I enjoyed it or not, to leave a review. I have had follows and favorites for this story sprinkle in over the past few months, but those that have hopped on, haven't left a single review, except for a select few (LilyKathryn, cubimo, alwaysLOST12, VivaGrazia and Jate4life, thank you sooo much!). Do you know what a writer gets when you follow or favorite their story? A notification email from the website. THAT IS IT, and that to a writer does not translate into, "I love this story! And here are all the reasons why…" It's pure laziness to think that pressing a button tells the writer anything about your opinion. **_

_**I get it, my absence from this story doesn't exactly bode much confidence for investing in its conclusion, but I guarantee you, this story has been mapped out since its conception. I outlined it before I wrote a word. It has an end. Everything comes together. **_

_**To anyone new to this story, I highly advise you to go back and read every chapter. THIS STORY BUILDS. The plot in one chapter intimately bleeds into the plot of the next chapter. What I always loved about LOST is that it was always a story that was set up in such a way that everything meant something. I wanted this story to reflect that. You can't follow any big storyline on LOST by coming on at Season 3, with not a single look at Seasons 1 and 2. That's criminal, and that's the case with this story. **_

_**Don't jump on at this chapter. Go back. Read, absorb, and let me know what you think. I'm not asking for reviews for every one of the older chapters, but I am asking for feedback. I will no longer write in silence. I myself have a busy and fulfilling life that I will cut corners from to finish this story. Be respectful enough to leave a review letting me know that you appreciate the time and energy I put in. If not, I'll just stop posting stories here.**_

_**Monica is absolutely right in how she approached the appalling lack of support in the LOST community here on . It's ridiculous to count the follows and favorites, but go to the review page and see how far and between they really are. It's so pathetic that we have to dull out ultimatums to get you all involved, when you should be willing to do so anyways. A review means more to me than any follow and favorite. It's finally time to show me that you want this story as much as I want to complete it, because if you don't, I'll just stop writing it. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

><p>"He wasn't there." Richard explained, standing over Ben's desk, watching him take in the news with surprise in his eyes.<p>

"And how is that possible?" Ben asked, anger in his tone.

"He has two legs like the rest of us, Ben. Maybe he decided to take a stroll." Richard said, shifting his position. Ben studied his face, but nothing. The one thing he could never read about Richard was if he would ever lie to him. He had the distinct feeling that he was now.

Swallowing his suspicions, he spoke again, calmly this time. "For where? And why?"

Richard shrugged. "I don't know, but I did what you asked, and he wasn't there."

Ben, lit by an idea, stood slowly, his cane bearing the weight of his movements, and retrieved a bundle of maps that had been rolled up from nearby. He unrolled one map in particular onto his desk, setting paperweights at the edges and went in search of something he'd seen before, but had simply disregarded, until now. Richard watched questioningly in silence, unsure of what was unfolding before him. He stepped closer as Ben took his magnifying glass and honed his focus onto the print of the map.

"Ben, what is it?"

After roaming over it for a few moments more, Ben dropped the magnifying glass and planted his hands flat on the desk. He hadn't looked up at Richard yet, his eyes still searching. "What about that cabin?"

"I'm sorry?" Richard asked.

Ben looked up at Richard then. "There's a cabin on one of these maps." He unraveled another map from its tightly curled grip and placed it over the other one, repositioning the paperweights as he did so, and picking up the magnifier again. "It used to be where Jacob dwelled when he travelled, right?"

"Yes. He built it with his own two hands." Richard explained, his hands on his hips, watching as Ben's obsession with it took hold. "To my knowledge he doesn't use it anymore, hasn't for a very long time."

"I suppose not, since he has you to do his bidding all over the Island now," Ben reasoned. "There's not much of a need for him to go much of anywhere."

"The last I saw of it was maybe twenty years ago. The Hostiles were using it as safe house. It's small, so not very many people could fit, so we abandoned it, but eventually it just became a kind of geographical landmark. We'd meet outside of it to find each other if we ever had to split up." Richard confessed.

Ben was unaffected by the history lesson. Richard wasn't even sure he was listening to him anymore, his concentration captivated with this cabin all of a sudden. "What are you thinking, Ben?"

Sighing, Ben lightly released the handle of the magnifying glass, trading it for the handle of his cane instead. He mulled over the map once more, but his face feigned defeat. "Nothing," he said as he looked up to Richard, a fake grin pursing his lips together, "nothing at all."

He eased back into his chair, giving Richard the impression that he was done with his quest. "Thank you for going to him, Richard. I know it was against the '_rules_', but I had to try something."

Richard nodded, his face and tone somber and regretful, or was he putting on an act? He wasn't sure anymore. He felt in his bones that the request was odd. Ben had always been content to do what was asked of him, and nothing more. Things were changing, and Richard knew it.

A big part of him, growing from the moment Ben came to his camp with his request, knew that something was …_off_. He wanted him to find Jacob, for how to protect the Island from Locke, but he always gave him instructions that ensured just that, the protection of the Island, but at that time, it'd been quite awhile since the last list. If Locke was such a threat, why had Jacob grown so mum towards Ben?

Richard wanted an explanation from Ben about just why it was so imperative in that moment, but looking back, he found that Ben did a lot of talking, persuading, but no explaining. He brought up the past; he flowered the moment with emotional rhetoric that distracted from the true issue. He had Tom posted there, waiting for John Locke to come knocking. Oddly enough, Richard found Locke on the mission Ben set him out on, and he was up to no good, but would he share this with Ben? He wasn't sure.

His allegiance was splitting in half, and he couldn't stand it. When did the black and white of his existence become so gray?

"I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you planned."

Ben snorted a deprecating laugh, as if he had just read Richard's scattered thoughts. "No, you're not."

"Excuse me?" Richard asked, affronted.

"I thought you at least had enough respect for me not to lie to my face." Ben leaned into his desk, anchoring himself on his folded arms. "You still don't believe a word I'm saying, Richard, about not having any other motives besides wanting to protect my people. Deep down, you're relieved that Jacob wasn't there. You don't want me to talk to him."

"Is that what you think?" Richard asked, nodding his head incredulously. _Unbelievable_, he thought. He looked Ben squarely in the eyes as the words came tumbling out, pushed by his outrage. "The only person on this Island who doesn't want you to talk to Jacob is John Locke."

Richard found satisfaction in the change in Ben's facial expression, more words spilling out in the heat of the moment. "I ran into him. He was at the Black Rock, planning something, maybe an attack against you and the people you're so invested in protecting, but whatever it was, it didn't look good."

"And you're just telling me this _now_?" Ben asked, picking the last straw of Richard's patience.

"Yes, Ben, I'm just now telling you, because honestly, this is what _you_ did. You cut him loose and now he's up to something…again. He thinks that you're lying, and that you're hiding something. He actually tried to recruit me in finding out just what the hell it is he believes you're up to!"

Exasperated with the situation and finding himself caught in the middle, with his temper getting the best of him, Richard stepped back. He paced towards the door, and then back, his hands on his hips, and his breathing more controlled.

"I looked at that ship, how old and weather-beaten it is now, and I think about how different my life would have been if it weren't for meeting Jacob, if he hadn't granted me a wish that I never thought he had the power to."

"I've spent years believing in Jacob, in what he stands for, and for some reason, he chose you to be his proxy, to set his aims into motion. I don't have to agree with that choice, all I have to do is believe that the past two centuries of my life wasn't for nothing." Locke's words taunted him, made him question everything.

'_One day Richard, one day very soon, you're gonna wish you'd paid more attention, but by then, it'll be too late._'

There was only one way to end this tug-o-war that was brewing inside of him. Someone had to be eliminated.

"You need to kill John Locke." Richard said it so suddenly, that shock lifted Ben's eyebrows as he watched him pull the words out of his chest. Richard was never an advocate of violent or deadly means to get the job done. He wasn't motivated, he was scared. Ben wondered what else Locke said to him, but didn't let that question distract him from Richard finally admitting that Locke needed to be stopped…permanently.

"What about this feeling you've had about him? The one you said almost compelled you to tell him the truth?" Ben prodded.

"I don't anymore." Richard lied.

Ben cocked his head, unconvinced. "It's gone, just like that? That's not just blood on my hands, Richard. It's blood on yours too. Are you willing to live with that?"

Richard let go of a long sigh. Did Ben really think him so weak and unable to co-exist with this choice? "This is only one of many decisions I've lived with, for a verylong time. This is me trusting you Ben, not only about Locke, but about everything. Do what you have to do, just do it quietly. I'll see my way out."

Ben sat there, mulling over Richard's sentiment. Mikhail walked in soon after Richard departed, his one eye taking in his boss' face from behind his desk.

"So?" Ben asked, momentarily distracted from his suspicions.

"Richard was telling the truth; John tried to recruit him and undermine his allegiance to you." Mikhail reported, having successfully followed Richard, and did so undetected.

"You followed Richard all the way?" Ben asked.

Mikhail nodded. "Yes. It took everything inside of me not to follow John, and kill him."

"Like I told you before, I have something far more damaging than death in store for John Locke. You'll get your vengeance, Mikhail. We both will." Ben said, in a tone that spoke finality on the topic. He knew Mikhail was growing impatient, but Locke would live, and he wouldn't find anything. His last hours on the planet would be filled with having tried and _failed…_only then, would he die.

"He was at the Black Rock. He could have taken a few sticks of dynamite and is on his way right no—"

Ben cut Mikhail short. "He isn't. He tried that already, and he knows that we'll be ready for him. What about Jacob? Was Richard telling the truth about that too?"

"Yes. Jacob wasn't there when he arrived." Mikhail confirmed, getting the idea that Locke was not on the top of his list of goals.

Ben smirked. "He will when _I_ arrive."

"And when will that be?" Mikhail asked.

"When all the pieces are in place." Ben informed him.

Mikhail nodded, but if it wasn't for Ben's insistence that they wait things out, he would have John Locke's head on a silver platter. He spoke his honest opinion in spite of it. "Waiting certainly won't make matters easier to keep under wraps."

"No, waiting is exactly what I should be doing. If I strike now, it'll be too premature, too hasty." Ben said.

Mikhail kept forging ahead to get a better handle on Ben's plans. "What about Richard? If you don't move against Locke, he'll suspect."

"He already suspects. He's trying his best to hide it, and the only solution he can find is to eliminate Locke for good." Ben turned to Mikhail before he said, "Richard has been compromised. He didn't go with Locke, but he didn't have to."

"What are you going to do about it?" Mikhail asked.

"Absolutely nothing. He's my only connection to Jacob, and that is all he means to me." Besides, the man was immortal, ageless, Ben thought, so there was no killing him, even if the thought had crossed his mind, which it hadn't.

"My goal is Jacob." Ben said, with all the force he had to give.

"I want him to wait, and I want him to know that I've spent the last twenty years of my life preparing for a position that he was never going to give me. When I show up, when he realizes that his secret _hole_ is no longer a secret, I'll kill him, but not before he knows with absolute certainty that this Island has always belonged to me, no matter who he brought here to take his place."

* * *

><p>Everything was a blur. The leaves, the ground, the sky above. Kate moved with anger twisting through her limbs. She just couldn't stop moving, reaching for the cabin, for where she knew she could be close to him, talk to him, cry to him and beg him to forgive her. If she could hear and feel him, it had to work the other way, right?<p>

_Jack saw. _It was like a repetitious chant whirling through her head as she moved furiously through the leaves. _He knew_.

There were cameras that much she knew, but judging from how grimy and run-down those cages were, she didn't think they were working. A foolish assumption. How could she have been so stupid?

In her hurried stride, her boot got caught below the underside of a tree root that poked through the ground at the bed of the tall grass. She cursed as she tried to pull herself free, but it wouldn't budge. She was truly stuck, and no matter what she did, she wouldn't go free, the pain wouldn't stop. _There was nowhere to go_.

The longer she pulled and tugged, the more hysterical she became. Silent tears moved down her face as she used her strength to pull her foot loose. She finally freed herself with a solid grunt, and moved to keep going, but found that she couldn't. She couldn't keep this up. She couldn't walk fast enough, or move far enough from the knowledge that she'd broken another man, the only man who mattered. She let the storm inside of her crack.

She folded against the side of a tree trunk, the breakdown coming through a sea of tears and sobs. She covered her face with her dirtied hands, embarrassed to be seen, even though no one was watching. She slid down to the trunk's base, on the ground, heaving. She kept playing their last moments together in her head, over and over again. Jack was so cold, steady in his resolve not to make the moment personal, to not let her in.

'_What did they do to you?_' She remembered asking him, and he wouldn't say, because it wasn't them.

It wasn't them. They hadn't done a thing. It was her. She broke his heart. She cried until her temples burned with a searing headache. She had no idea how she was going to find him, but she knew she needed to, but she was so so so tired. The trek to the beach had drained her, but the thought of seeing Jack again was her fuel, but now, she let her achy bones sag. _Jack knew_. All the motivation she had died with this knowledge, this sadness.

Through puffy, red eyes, she suddenly saw it in the distance. The cabin.

Her mouth dropped with amazement and relief as she wiped at her face. How could that be? She thought. The last time she came from the beach to find it, she calculated that she'd been travelling for hours, a couple of good, long miles between her and it. Had she been walking _that_ fast to have gotten to it so quickly? She found she didn't care for an explanation, as she rose and dusted herself off, stumbling towards it.

She came through the door. The bed was still unmade, which reminded her of before the beach, before Juliet and the humiliation she was determined to dish out. She hated that woman, but she was right, Ben played her. She was nothing but a means to push Jack away from the Island, and she played right into it.

Not everything was the same. She began to realize that she couldn't feel him there anymore, as if the revelation of what she'd done to him made her unworthy of it, of any part of him and the connection she felt to him through this cabin. She didn't deserve his comfort, but she still craved it.

She refused to believe that he was dead. Jack was too stubborn to die; a small, nostalgic smile rode her lips at the thought. So, she would wait. She wouldn't move until she felt him there again, and then she would find him, wherever he was. She let the pack fall from her shoulders, and carefully sat the rifle down.

Eventually, she lowered herself onto the bed until her wild curls were scattered about her head. She was in her white tank top and panties, getting comfortable on the wire-thin mattress. Once she stopped squirming, she reached over and brought her hands up above her, the face of Jack's watch dangled from her fingers. She had cleaned it the best she could after she dropped it in the jungle, as the Smoke Monster was determined to kill her, but she could see some of the polished finish wearing off. It exposed how much time had passed since Jack left. _She missed him so much._

She had so much to tell him, to apologize for. Hope sprung inside of her as she gazed at it. It was all of him she had left now. He knew about her and Sawyer and she had still given it to her, entrusted it to her. She had to hold on to that. She brought it down to the valley between her unhampered breasts, held it there and closed her eyes. The tick of the clock sounded in perfect harmony with her slumbered heartbeat.

* * *

><p>It was nightfall, the beach had calmed considerably, the news of Jack and the arrival of Juliet kicked up dust that was now settling into the darkness around them now. Rose had thought it best to set Juliet up with shelter and some supplies, food, water. She'd traveled all that way to tell them about Jack, that he hadn't given up on them. She deserved that much, even if they couldn't trust her fully just yet.<p>

Sawyer sat on the beach's edge, looking out at the water, the light of the bonfire nearby casting a warm glow over his angry, disappointed face. The memory of Kate's reaction to him was devastating. She balked from him, like he was radioactive. His feelings weren't hurt easily; he was never this easily bruised, but this hurt like hell. It still hurt.

He sensed someone plop down next to him. He turned, took in her profile, her sharp, yet pretty and feminine features were touched by the firelight, and her long blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, while a few strands danced about her face.

He smacked his lips and turned back. "Go away."

"Sorry, but I can't do that." Juliet took no time in replying, turning to him, watching his jaw set into a stubborn clinch as his teeth ground together.

"And why the hell not?" Sawyer asked, not looking at her, but the snippy and surly tone rang loud and clear.

"Because I haven't apologized yet." She snipped right back, catching the slight defeat in his features, as he still ignored her presence. She crossed her long legs together, digging her fingers in to play with the sand at her sides.

"What I did earlier…" she didn't elaborate, because she knew that he knew what she was referring to, _that_ moment, "it was wrong." In her successful attempt to embarrass and humiliate Kate, kick her off her throne to be frank, she had caused great pain to him. She hadn't thought about that. In her ire, she could be pretty short-sided and vindictive. He hadn't deserved that. Kate? Well, she was another story.

"You have every right not to like me." She continued, stealing glances at him. She was oddly caught off guard by how his chopped, dirty blonde hair swayed in the light breeze.

She was about to continue, when his voice filled the space immediately around them. "I knew the second after we left. Hell, I knew when she was on the walkie with him, beggin' him to tell her where he was." He was so foolish. All those moments he spent pining for her, getting in her way, trying to stop her from going out in that jungle by herself.

Some conman he was. He didn't even realize that the mark was never going to bend to his love for her. He closed his eyes with a self-deprecating scoff. "How could I have been so damn stupid?"

Juliet felt such sympathy for him. She remembered their interactions from before, vividly. He was such a lively…_asshole_. He was a handful, disobedient, ornery and…._strong_. He'd taken a hell of a beating and never backed down, but he was just bowed over now. Kate had cracked him. She hadn't broken him, but tonight, he was on the edge, as close as he'd ever been before.

"Jack kissed me." The words were so unexpected that Sawyer turned to her, watching her eyes spark behind the firelight. She met his gaze. "He was drunk and out of it, but he kissed me. And when he pulled back, I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was _her_; he wanted me to be her. Even after what he saw on those monitors, even after leaving her behind."

"So, I get it." Juliet nodded. Sawyer couldn't even be cross with her after that. It was obvious in how she recounted the memory that it hurt her, it really cut deep that she wasn't Jack's desire. She really understood, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had to.

"But he came back. For all of you. He wanted to make things right."

_Aw hell_, Sawyer thought. If only she hadn't said that. He couldn't help but let go of a deprecating snort, watching her through slitted eyes. "Do you actually believe the bullshit you're sayin' to me right now?"

What was it with women and Jack? They tripped over themselves to believe in him, to praise his selfless efforts, to be utterly taken with him and everything he did. It was so fucking infuriating to him. Why wasn't Juliet mad at him for what he did? Why was she making it seem like a passable offense?

"He kissed you. He wanted you to be _someone else_. He used you just like she used me, so I don't really want to hear about what a big damn hero he is, because he's just as selfish as the rest of us."

Sawyer stood then, his movements brimming with attitude, quick and taut. He dusted the sprinkles of sand from his jeans as he looked down at her, the moment they were having, the genuine understanding he felt from her dissolved away in more frustration. He was suddenly reminded that she wasn't one of them, that she wasn't his friend, and that he didn't have any friends.

"The Doc risked his ass for one person and one person only, and she's out there ready to die for him, too. So I guess that makes us the odd ones out." To add emphasis, he bent down, his face inches away from hers and his voice scratchy, faintly menacing, but sad all the same.

"Welcome to the club, Blondie." And with that, he marched up the stretch of the beach to his tent.

Juliet shook her head as she bent her legs, and hugged them to her chest. She knew what he was doing. He was keeping his anger close, because it was better than sulking, which he had too much pride to partake in for too long. Wasn't that why James Ford was walking around with a different name? Because it was easier to be angry than to give in to the pain, to the loss.

She read his file, word-for-word, out of interest more than necessary. He had lived a tragic life, but found purpose in the dark shadows, in his revenge, running cons from the age of thirteen, until he made a career out of it. She had to admit, he was right. They were in the same boat, hopelessly in love with two people who would never stop being desperately in love with each other. She looked out at the waves, watching them flip and flop under the moonlight.

She never thought she'd find herself on common ground with a man like Sawyer, but life was full of surprises.

* * *

><p>The torch that Locke held in his hands lit the way. Damn, he thought. He felt like nightfall came a little too quickly, as if the Island didn't want him to find what he was so determined to. On his own this time, he reminded himself, constantly. <em>He was doing this on his own this time, and he had a plan.<em>

He thought about stopping an hour ago, set up camp, call it a night, but he wanted to keep going. He needed to. Everything was so pressing, even the air he breathed had a different taste to it. He couldn't track in the dark, but he felt a sense of rightness about where he was headed. Eventually, he saw the strong stone edges of a barricade of some kind, a wall, up ahead. So, he moved to it, its presence settling his nerves about where he might be going, and if his internal compass needed recalibrating.

The barrier finally came into full view, and his tired smile grew and widened. The Temple. He found it. The tall, outer wall, peppered with symbols was like an old friend. Locke's hand smoothed over it fondly as he chuckled happily. He walked around the enclosure to find the door he left cracked and slid his way through. He made a beeline for the chamber Jack's father had led him to before, in hopes of finding answers.

The fire still burned in the central point of the space, illuminating every corner in an intimate glow. He gleamed at the walls, the art work, and the history. The Smoke Monster's history. He realized that this was the only way to take Ben out for good. He had no other play in motion. Richard spotting him at the Black Rock no doubt found its way back to Ben, so he was desperate.

He eyed the olden mural of the Monster, chained and leashed the hands of men, and knelt down next to it. Murky, dingy water hid the knob underneath it. He dipped his fingers in, and was ready to turn it, to watch all the water drain away, and the Monster to swirl from his cave, when he heard someone speak up from behind him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Locke was quick on his feet. He rose, turned, grabbed and aimed his gun all within a few seconds. He took in the man who was encased in firelight. He was barefoot, dingy collared button-up, dark trousers. Sandy blonde hair. This time, it wasn't Christian.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Jacob." He spoke, his voice somehow rumbling off the walls, calm and inviting. "You can lower your gun. I'm not here to hurt you."

"You're the one who sent the Monster to attack me, and drag me here. You're the one who's in control of it." Locke stated, stepping closer to the fire, letting his gun fall. Christian never answered him one way or another about how it all happened.

"No, I'm not. I used to be, but I have a limited amount of power over it now, and I used every drop to get you here that day, but only to _show_ you, to give you the tools to fight against Ben when the time comes."

Jacob stepped closer. "It's best that he never know that you ever came across this place. You turn that knob, and you're the first person on his list of suspects and there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in, which doesn't exactly work with my plan."

"What is your plan exactly?" Locke asked.

"To keep you and Jack alive, John." Jacob said. "If you make this move against Ben, he will have no choice but to kill you."

Locke tilted his head. "How do you know he doesn't already have a lynch mob out looking for me right now?"

"Because I know him. He is waiting for you to do something drastic, desperate and then he'll strike. He'll kill you when you're finally broken, and you're not broken yet, are you John?"

Locke ignored his question and asked one of his own, his tone deep and biting with sarcasm. "You know him, hmm? You trusted him, for years and he betrayed you. Did you know _that_ too?"

Jacob remained cool, because he deserved it. His inability to see Ben for what he was really after caused all of this. "No, not at first, and by the time I did, it was too late."

Locke asked another question, one he'd been waiting for ask for awhile. "Why did you have Christian come to me? Why not tell me all of this yourself?"

"I have to stay as elusive as I possibly can, which is why Christian has been such a valuable asset to me, but I can't afford to do that any longer."

"Go back to your people, John." Jacob made it clear that it wasn't a suggestion.

"No," Locke's voice rumbled with confusion and impatience. "Christian told me to figure out Ben's next move and to stop him. I was just in the process of doing that, so why—"

"The circumstances of those instructions have changed. He is on to you, which is why you need to go back to your camp. The longer you're out here, the more opportunity there is for him to get to you."

"Benjamin Linus can get to me from anywhere on this Island, that is not a problem for him, and he is _very_ satisfied with that. So, with all due respect, the longer we wait, the more of an advantage he has to—"

"_Jack is_ the advantage," Jacob interrupted him, his voice still even level, yet stern, but its edges fringed with a bit of impatience. Locke's face fell into a spell of surprise…and suspicion. Jacob was keeping something from him, something big about Jack.

Jacob must have sensed his thoughts, because he then said, "And he won't succeed without your help, and you cannot help if you are dead. That is all you need to know."

"Where is Jack? Is he here? Is he back on the Island?" Locke asked, a bit too eagerly, tired of being told half the story.

"You need to trust me." Jacob urged, having already said too much, but reeled himself in before he said anything more. He once told Jack that he allowed John to know very little, and he would keep to that. The less he knew at the moment, the safer he was, and the sooner he got back to his camp, the longer he _hoped_ he would stay that way.

Jack was the Savior, lost in space and time, with a journey he needed to embark on before he could take his place. Jacob made sure he was on that voyage, everything depended on it. John was the Soldier, on the ground, in the trenches, fighting restlessly to win, to ensure there was an Island left to protect. All he saw was the mission, the enemy and that he needed to be stopped. Like any good soldier, Locke needed to realize that no war was won with a single action, but a series of steps that required patience for the proper moment. Jacob was here now to make sure he understood that.

"Everything is in its place. Go back. You'll know when you _need_ to do this. Goodbye, John."

"Wait, you can't just—" Locke started, his voice into an angry growl, but it was too late. Jacob was gone as abruptly as he'd appeared.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Should I keep going? You will need to let me know via a review. I won't assume that you're enjoying this story, nor will I accept passive interest, not anymore, not with all the work it takes writing it. I want to finish, but it is up to you whether or not I do.<strong>_


	22. My Goodbye

Hello,

I just want to let you know that with a heavy, yet steady heart, I am retiring my stories and my active status as a writer from this website.

Why? Oh, I think that's been made clear. I think that the response to a great many of Jate stories on this site, by some of the finest Jaters I have had the pleasure of knowing, is such crap, and it's time to stop giving you readers a pass, and placating your laziness with more hopes and dreams about you getting the message. So, here is the message, in black and white.

I have so many more follows and favorites than I do reviews. A FAVORITE AND/OR A FOLLOW IS NOT A REPLACEMENT FOR REVIEWS OF NOT JUST ONE CHAPTER, BUT A GOOD NUMBER OF THEM. That's textbook. They are different functions on the site for a reason. I'm also very upset at the functionality of this site, because I just blocked a good bunch of readers with the 'Block User' function, but they can still read my stories, so what is the point of it in the first place? The writer has no power over who has access to their work on this site, which is why anything I write from here on out will be posted elsewhere, in a private and blocked manner. Those who care will care enough to go through the steps of being granted access. It'll weed out those who could give a damn, which is a big chunk of the lot of you and not just my audience, but Yas' (yas-m), Monica's (emerson023), and Cort's (MorningGlory2) readers as well. Even writers who are just starting out are feeling deflated and ready to turn it in, because the returns are not matching up to the investment made. The silence is more than loud enough to walk off-stage, never to give our all to any chapter, ever again.

I understand that LOST is four years post-mortem, but between myself and the writers I just mentioned, the stats and traffic for our work indicates that there are a lot of you who are still out there, active (which is a very flimsy word at this point, because you don't actually do anything but read), but who don't care to keep writers here who want to write and entertain. This is not a single action that is about me and only me and my stories, this is about the other Jate writers as well, who give and give and receive little to nothing. It's supposed to be a conversation between artist and admirer, and not this dead-silent bullshit.

Furthermore, to let you in on a little secret, this is why I have yet to complete THIS story since I put the brakes on, cold turkey, back in 2012. I was not receiving the adequate response necessary for all the hard, arduous, detail-oriented work I was putting in, so I stopped. I didn't say that was the cause back then, because I was trying to power through it, but I didn't have any power left for minimal returns, when I give maximum effort. Work, graduate school, family, I gave it all to them, because they actually gave enough of a damn to give it back.

I remember how I felt (and still feel) after I wrapped the story, "He Has Her." That epilogue was a labor of love that I SLAVED over, no detail was left to chance. I felt downright cheated at the lack of reviews for it. Monica was a huge help in producing that perfect ending (I modeled Maddie after Monica's own daughter for crying out loud, because I don't have children of my own and I wanted her to be as vivid as possible for YOU as readers), and I share that epilogue with her, it was a labor of love for the both of us. Even she believed that I deserved more reviews. I have collaborated with Monica on both of her stories, and Cort as well, and to dismiss their efforts is to dismiss mine, pretty much. This just verifies and strengthens my reasoning for leaving this website.

Readers expect Jate and LOST writers alike to churn out entertainment with no contribution at all. These stories take time, planning, commitment, and MORE TIME heaped on top. The excuses about being in the grocery aisle and forgetting to review, or having poor English are loose and flaccid. We have time to go grocery shopping, to work, class, exercise, spend time with family, hell, for some of us, RAISE families, and we carve out of that to write, to keep the Jate Fan-fiction community somewhat afloat, but you give nothing back. It's just come to the point where I'm going to make the first big move and take control of my stories by appropriating granted access to them in another place altogether. A closed mouth will never be fed from my hand ever again.

Now, to those of you who have been absolutely great about leaving reviews for anything I write, past and/or present, _**THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOO MUCH**_. You have no ungodly clue how much your vocal presence means to me. You know who you are, and please don't hate me for this decision, or think that your contribution is not enough. It's everything, but the six or seven of you are pulling the weight of twenty-some other readers. I would love nothing more than to continue to post to this website for you and you alone, but I'm tired of other readers taking advantage of your desire to see this story written to the finish (and believe me, I've seen the viewing and visitor stats, and more people are reading than reviewing). Also, I'm pretty tired of this website's sheer absence of options when it comes to creating a private audience. Anyone who is anyone can read my stories, and I'm done with allowing that. Only those of you who care to speak up have earned a special place, and I have created that place for you, so please be open to following me there.

With that being said, **I have completed the next chapter for this story, and it is up on my private Jate fan-fiction blog RIGHT NOW.** For those of you who would like to both read it AND review (there is no longer the former without the latter), please send me a private message and I will provide you with a link and instructions on how to view the blog and its contents. I have to say, this is the chapter of "I Will Come Back Here For You" that I have been waiting and wanting to write for three years now. It's the game-changer.

Finally, to those of you who do dog shit every 6000+ words, and especially after I made myself completely vulnerable to the situation by asking for more involvement explicitly, good luck in your future searches for worthwhile Jate fan-fiction.

All the best,

Erica


End file.
